


How Ben Wyatt Quits the Government and Finds Himself

by jncar



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/M, imported from Live Journal, old fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-10 00:59:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 47,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7824022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jncar/pseuds/jncar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's already given up his career and ambitions for a shot at the woman of his dreams, only to be dumped by that same woman after just two months for the sake of her career and her ambitions. What else does he have to lose? What the hell—he'll take the job with Entertainment 720. Originally posted on Live Journal from August-September 2011.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Ben Has an Epiphany

**Author's Note:**

> I'm importing old fics from Live Journal for archive purposes. This is one of my favorites.

It's been just over two months since Leslie viciously dumped him.   
  
Okay, so viciously is an exaggeration. She was really very nice about it. Apologetic. Heartbroken, even, pleading with him to forgive her and hoping that they could still be friends. And he'd played right along, being the nice guy. The understanding guy. The supportive guy. He's even helping with her campaign, for Christ's sake.  
  
But every time he really thinks about it—about how much he's given up for her, and how much he was ready to risk for her, and how little she was ready to risk for him—it feels pretty goddamn vicious.  
  
He's still been playing the part of the nice guy. For nine fucking weeks he's been the nice guy.   
  
He's been ignoring the tightness in his chest every time she smiles at him in a Parks Department meeting, or the warm thank-you she gives him for his help every time he makes a suggestion at one of her campaign meetings. He's even tried to ignore the way he catches her staring at him when she thinks he's not watching, or the way she looks for little excuses to touch him—pat him on the back, squeeze his hand, rub up against him as they're walking down the hall. But it's getting harder. Especially now that she's been dropping not-so-subtle hints about a possible future re-connection "after the election."  
  
None of it changes the fact that she chose her career before him. That he was a scandal. An inconvenience. Something not worth fighting for—not worth the risk. How the hell is hooking back up after the election going to change that? It's not like the Mayor sleeping with the Assistant City Manager is any less scandalous than a deputy department head sleeping with him—she's just less likely to get fired. He, on the other hand, has no such assurance.  
  
She doesn't get to play the part of the wistful, heartsick girl. _She's_ the one who dumped _him_. And constantly reminding him of just how hard it was—of just how painful it still is for both of them—is only making him angry. What right does she have to string him along like this? Can't she just let him get on with his life?  
  
He's not sure how much more of this he can take. He's sick of being the nice guy.  
  
*  
  
When Tom calls Ben late one Wednesday evening, begging for his help in sorting out the Entertainment 720 finances, he sees it as a welcome distraction. He's in his car in less than five minutes. Maybe it's petty, but he can't wait to sink into someone else's screwed up life for awhile, instead of his own.  
  
And boy is Entertainment 720 screwed up.  
  
The bright white office looks as hip and swanky as ever, pounding with the electronic beats of their in-house DJ. But the financial picture Ben finds is much less impressive.  
  
Ben sits in front of a computer on a curvy blue plastic desk, staring incredulously at Entertainment 720's QuickBooks home page, a white leather in-box full of invoices and collection notices, and a champagne bucket full of receipts. Tom and Jean-Ralphio stand behind him, arguing about where the records from the last party they hosted ended up. Tom is convinced the papers are in Jean-Ralphio's car, while Jean-Ralphio insists that the papers are in Tom's "style-box" (Eventually, Ben figures out that "style-box" means briefcase) which Tom probably left in the apartment of a girl he got lucky with two nights ago.  
  
The most helpful person there, surprisingly (or not, after Ben really thinks about it) turns out to be former NBA star Detlef Schrempf. He seems to have a pretty clear picture of Entertainment 720's financial status, and quietly fills Ben in on his employers' many blunders as Tom and Jean-Ralphio continue to fight behind them.  
  
Somehow, in just over two months, they've blown through nearly half of Jean-Ralphio's start-up capital, and have only recouped a third of that money in client invoices. If they keep going like this, they'll be out of business in less than six months.  
  
Sometime not long after midnight (Detlef left a few hours ago and Jean-Ralphio is asleep on one of the sofas with a ceiling), Ben sighs, swivels his chair, and meets Tom's rather desperate looking eyes.  
  
"You're in serious trouble, man," he says.  
  
"I already knew that," replies Tom, sounding both snarky and desperate at the same time. "So what do we do about it?"  
  
Ben glances around the "Dreamatorium." The answer should be obvious. He's pretty sure Tom knows it. He's just in denial. Fine. Time to be the bad guy. "You make cuts. You scale back. You reorganize, and pare down. That's what you do."  
  
Tom looks down at his shiny designer shoes, all the light draining from his eyes. "Fuck."  
  
Ben was wrong. This doesn't make him feel any better. That old saying about misery loving company is full of shit.  
  
*  
  
Two weeks later, Ben is there as the last of the furniture is hauled away and the "Dreamatorium" closes its doors for the last time.  
  
He pats Tom on the shoulder. "I know it sucks, man. But remember—from here on out every event you host or video you produce will actually turn a profit instead of just covering expenses. The sacrifice will be worth it in the long run."  
  
Tom shakes his head. "But now I'm stuck back in another boring office. I left City Hall to get away from boring offices. My impresario vibe is completely shot. The _party planner_ slash _videographer_ vibe is not nearly as cool."  
  
"But it is more sustainable. And your office doesn't have to be boring. You can find ways to bring in personal touches to, uh, re-build your vibe." Ben feels kind of silly saying it, but Tom is a cool guy, and he hates seeing him so depressed. Ben has more than enough depression of his own to go around.  
  
"Dude," says Tom, perking up suddenly. "You know what else would make us more successful?"  
  
Ben's afraid to answer. "No. What?"  
  
"Having a financial guru on staff full-time!" Tom raises his hands and shakes them as if he's about to break out into a dance.  
  
Oh boy. "Um—you don't mean—uh—me? Do you?"  
  
Tom claps Ben on his shoulders. "Of course I mean you! Say sayonara to boring budget busting at City Hall, and come live the high life with the hippest crowd in Pawnee!"  
  
Ben is dumbstruck, his mouth hanging open as he flounders for an appropriate response. Even with the help he's given them, Entertainment 720 is unlikely to last more than a year. But if he took a job with them, maybe they'd actually have a chance. . . . No. He couldn't. He just couldn't throw away a long-term career in public service to become a full-time financial babysitter for two crazy man-children. The whole idea is absurd.  
  
"Come on!" Tom insists. "Your life right now sucks. You spend all day trapped in City Hall getting bossed around by Chris and badgered by a bunch of greedy bureaucrats, all night listening to whatever crazy shit Andy and April get up to, and every weekend getting bossed around by Leslie on her campaign. Don't you want to live a little? Maybe even meet some hot chicks and get laid? I don't even want to think about how long it's been since you've had sex, but dude, I can tell it's been a while."  
  
 _11 weeks and four days_ , Ben thinks automatically, remembering his last happy night with Leslie. It really sucks that he knows that. What's wrong with him?  
  
He nods. "You know what—I'll give it some serious thought. Maybe I have been trapped in government too long."  
  
Tom raises an eyebrow. "You're not just saying this to get me off your back, are you?"  
  
"No, I really will think about it." After all, Tom was right. His life right now really sucks. Ben doesn't think Entertainment 720 is the answer, but maybe leaving his job at City Hall _will_ be. It's definitely worth some thought.  
  
*  
That Friday night Ben goes to Leslie's weekly campaign meeting. As usual, he sits in the corner by April, not saying much, while the more vocal and active campaign volunteers dominate the discussion. And Leslie stands at the center of it all, everyone revolving around her like little planets orbiting the sun. Ben used to be one of those planets. Thought he could be happy in her orbit forever.   
  
Yeah. Right.   
  
Today they're brainstorming slogans for yard-signs. April dutifully scratches down each outlandish idea (and a few decent ones) on her yellow legal pad, and Ben sits in silence, watching the ruckus play out. Just a few weeks ago he'd have been right up there tossing out ideas with the rest of them, but it's getting harder to muster the enthusiasm. He still thinks Leslie deserves to win, but he's starting to believe that she'll have to do it without him.  
  
When the meeting wraps up and everyone starts filtering out, Ben is one of the first to head for the door. But he stops when he finds Leslie's hand on his arm, holding him back. How did she manage to cross the room so fast?  
  
"Hey—can I talk to you in private?" she asks, with that _worried about a project_ look in her eyes.  
  
He sighs. He still can't say no to her. He never really could. "Sure."  
  
Her expression brightens back up. "Great! I have to finish saying goodnight to everyone. Maybe you could go wait in the kitchen?"  
  
Perfect. The place he used to cook her breakfast every morning, back when he thought they actually had a future together. Sure. Why not? He nods, and Leslie pats his arm before turning to talk to everyone else as they head out the door.  
  
His head hanging, he wanders into the kitchen, and sits in one of the chairs around the table, deliberately avoiding the chair that became his usual seat all those months ago. The chair he was sitting in when she broke the news about her new political aspirations—and how none of them would be possible with a scandal waiting in the wings.  
  
He can hardly believe it's been almost three months. It still hurts as much as if it were yesterday.  
  
A few minutes later he hears the front door close and Leslie comes back to join him. She seems startled to see him sitting in one of the chairs they never used to use, but gets over it fast with a few blinks and a forced smile. She sits down across from him—just enough distance that they would have to stretch a little to touch.  
  
"You've been quiet, lately," she says. "Are you doing all right?"  
  
He shrugs. "As good as can be expected. I've been helping Tom out a lot with Entertainment 720. It's a little depressing." Nice excuse. He knows she'll see right through it.  
  
"He told me. That's so awesome of you—he really needed the help. You've always been a really good friend."  
  
"Yeah. That's me. The good friend. The nice guy. Always ready to lend a hand." He can't hide the bitterness in his voice, and Leslie winces.  
  
"If this is too hard for you, you don't have to come anymore," she says. "I mean—I still want you to come. I really really do. But I'll understand if you need some space."  
  
Finally. He doesn't know why he waited for her permission. But now he has it. "I think some space might be a good idea."  
  
She squeezes her lips together, her eyes looking moist, and nods. "Okay. But you know, if you ever need anything, I'm still here for you. I always will be."  
  
He can't look at her. He just nods, staring at a shallow gouge in the vinyl flooring. "I know."  
  
Her voice shakes when she speaks again. "I miss you. I wish things didn't have to be like this."  
  
He feels the heat rising in his chest. He forces his head up and meets her eyes. "They didn't have to be. That was your choice. _Your choice_. You didn't even give me time to try to find solutions."  
  
"I'm sorry. Maybe it's not too late. Maybe we can still—"  
  
Two months ago he'd already have her bent back over the table, kissing her like it was end of the world. (He can't deny that he's still tempted—you can't just get over a woman like Leslie). But that was two months ago. This is now. "No. Don't do this. It's not fair and you know it." He rises to his feet. "You're not going to drop out of this campaign. You and I both know it. So dating is out of the question. And we both know that hooking up in secret isn't a real relationship—it's just fucking, and I'm not willing to settle for that. You need to let go. You made your choice." He rubs his face with his hands, and shakes his head. "Whatever we might have had—whatever we might have been—you threw it away three months ago. Until you accept that, I don't think I can be around you anymore. I'm sorry."  
  
He doesn't need to look back to know she's crying, so he just keeps walking until he's all the way out the door.  
  
*  
  
He drives to Indianapolis the next morning. He's not sure why. He has no apartment there—nothing but a storage unit he never bothered to empty and still dutifully pays for every six months.  
  
He spends a few hours walking the paths along the canal and river in White River State Park, taking in the sites and remembering why he liked Indy so much before he took the job as a travelling auditor. Back when he worked in an office in the statehouse full-time, this place really felt like home. The first home he'd had since Partridge, and the last home he had before Pawnee.  
  
He finally gets hungry and drives to his favorite sandwich shop not far from the statehouse. The food is just as good as he remembered.  
  
After eating, he takes out his phone and dials his old boss, Jeff, from the State Budget Office. After a minute of catching up chit-chat, he gets to the point. "Well, I was actually calling because this job in Pawnee isn't working out as well as I hoped it would."  
  
"I'm sorry to hear that. I thought you'd be eager to put down roots again after all those years on the road," replied Jeff.  
  
"So did I. But Pawnee might not be the right place for me, after all. I was wondering if you have any openings in Indy right now? I'm thinking of coming back."  
  
"I'm sorry, Ben, but we're on a hiring freeze right now. In this economy even the budget office has to pinch pennies."  
  
Ben rubs his forehead. He should have expected this. "Yeah. I'm not really surprised."  
  
"But you were one of our best men. Once the freeze is over, if I find something that would suit you I'll call right away."  
  
"Thanks. I appreciate it."  
  
A set back, but not a huge one. He didn't really expect finding a new job to be that easy. He leaves his car at the restaurant and walks to the statehouse. Up the steps and into the rotunda, he takes it all in. He doesn't feel the awe and sense of pride that once inspired him in this place. Apparently, he's grown jaded in the past few years.  
  
Still, he lingers for nearly an hour. He might not be back here for a long time, and this place reminds him of a time in his life when he didn't feel so lost. So dependent on a spunky, slightly crazy, blond bureaucrat for his happiness. Back then, all it took to make him happy was a good day at work, a few beers with friends, and a baseball game.  
  
He calls up a few old buddies from the budget office and they get together at a sports bar not far from Victory Field. The Indians aren't playing today, but there are other games to watch on the big flat-screen TVs. He and his friends talk sports and the economy and cars. None of them are married, and only one has a girlfriend, so women don't really come up. It's the first time in months when Ben feels like he can just drink his beer and relax. He has nothing to prove. No one to disappoint.  
  
He stays the night at a nearby hotel, and takes a long jog along the canal in the morning. At one point he stops and stares out over the city. It's not really home anymore. He's not sure where is. But Pawnee, and whatever waits for him there, is the closest thing he's got. So he heads back. He manages to think of Leslie only part of the time.  
  
*  
  
Monday at lunch Ann finds him in the courtyard eating his sandwich. She scowls and looms over him—as much as any woman that petite can loom.  
  
"You're a jerk," she says.  
  
He raises his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"  
  
"You heard me. Leslie was miserable all weekend. I could hardly get her to eat—and you know she _never_ loses her appetite. All when she was trying to make things right with you. How dare you?" She rests her fists on her hips, glaring down at him.  
  
This is the final straw. " _I'm_ the jerk? After she chooses her career over our relationship, strings me along for three months so I can't get over her or move on with my life, and then tries to talk me into another meaningless secret relationship, all I do is tell her that it's over. And that makes _me_ the jerk?" He shakes his head and stands up, gathering the remnants of his lunch, while Ann's mouth hangs open.  
  
"Look—" he says, "I get why you're loyal to your friend. But I'm over the whole Leslie-worship thing. I'm ready to move on, and she needs to do the same." He stalks away, ignoring Ann when she calls his name. He's through with this. He'll never be able to start fresh in this place.  
  
The remains of his lunch end up in the nearest trash can, and he pulls out his phone, hitting the speed-dial for Tom's cell.  
  
The first thing he hears is pounding music, followed by Tom's chipper, "Hey dude! You were totally right about the personal touches. We just installed a killer sound system, and it's made this place 100% better already."  
  
"Glad to hear it." Ben can't help but smile. There's something about Tom's earnest enthusiasm for life that's always appealed to him. Maybe that's why he says something monumentally stupid. "Hey—are you guys still interested in hiring a financial guru?"  
  
"Hell yes! Are saying you want in?"  
  
"I want in."  
  
Tom hoots in triumph. "When can you start?"  
  
"One or two weeks. I'm on my way to give Chris my notice right now."  
  
"Awesome! You are not going to regret this, dude. Trust me."  
  
Ben hangs up, feeling absolutely certain he'll regret it. But what the hell—he's already given up his career and ambitions for a shot at the woman of his dreams, only to be dumped by that same woman after just two months for the sake of _her_ career and _her_ ambitions. What else does he have to lose?   
  
Entertainment 720, here he comes.  
  
*  
  
Chris almost starts crying when Ben tenders his resignation, but Ben manages to hold firm. This may turn out to be a stupid decision, but he's made up his mind and he's not backing down. He manages to convince Chris that it's nothing personal—he's just ready to try out the private sector, to see what he might have been missing all these years.  
  
They finally agree to Friday being his last day, and Chris insists on throwing him a going away party, even though he's not really going anywhere. He'll still be living with April and Andy, after all. But hell, it feels good to know that someone cares, so he agrees to the party.  
  
The rest of the week he feels like he's walking on air. For the first time in his adult life, he's free. No agenda. Nothing to prove. No one to impress. Just a crazy leap of faith out into the unknown. He hasn't done anything like this since he turned in the papers that officially entered him in the mayoral race back in Partridge. It feels pretty fucking amazing.  
  
When he tells his parents, they think he's crazy, but his dad says, "About damn time you get out of government work. God damned waste of time." That's as close to approval as he ever gets from his dad. He thinks his dad and Ron would probably get along.  
  
He spends his days breezing through his final assignments with a rather cavalier attitude. He's already turned over all his meetings to Chris, so it's just paperwork and number crunching. He only catches a few glimpses of Leslie, and she always seems in a hurry to run off, so he's spared that confrontation. The one time he runs into Ron, he gets a huge pat on the back and a congratulations for boldly abandoning the government teat. Andy and April are just excited at the prospect of tagging along to Entertainment 720 parties, and maybe getting some gigs for Mouse Rat. All in all, it's a great week.  
  
Ben spends his evenings hanging with Tom and Jean-Ralphio (who's still annoying, but does get amusing after you get used to him) at the Snakehole, talking up their big plans for the future. On Thursday night Tom raises a toast, "To our new financial guru. With you, we'll be unstoppable."  
  
This is first time in years Ben has felt truly appreciated (expect for that whole Harvest Festival thing. And the Little League Tournament. And the—No. He's not thinking about Leslie. Definitely not). He could really get used to it.  
  
*   
  
April and Andy step up to help Chris put together Ben's going away party, so real food makes an appearance (thank god). It's a pretty casual affair out in the courtyard—a table full of food, a little music, and the dozens of bureaucrats he's worked with over the past year filtering in and out, offering him a few scant words of encouragement and best wishes.   
  
None of them really matter. The only real friends he has here are Chris and the Dwyers. The rest of the Parks Department used to be his friends, too, but it looks like they're all taking Leslie's side right now, because none of them show up. Except for Ron, and he's mostly there for the free food.  
  
As six o'clock passes most of the visitors head for home. Soon it's just Ben and Chris, laughing over the good old days on the road together, and April and Andy packing up the food. Ben is sure they'll live off the leftovers for days.  
  
Finally, Chris extends his hand, and Ben shakes it with a firm grip.  
  
"I'll miss you, old friend," says Chris, his eyes shining. "We've made a good team. Work just won't be the same without you."  
  
Ben feels a surge of warmth. Chris may be annoying sometimes, but he's a good guy. And, honestly, the closest thing to brother that Ben's ever had. "It's been good. And I'll just be a phone call away. We can still hang out, and stuff."  
  
Chris claps both his hands around Ben's, squeezing his fingers. "I would like that very much."  
  
"Me too," Ben says, finding that he actually means it.  
  
He heads back to his (former) office to pick up his laptop. Just as he's slinging the strap of the case over his shoulder, Leslie steps through his door.   
  
He's been wondering if she'd turn up all day long, and he's not sure if he's happy or not to see her again.  
  
"Why are you doing this?" she asks. Her eyes are red-rimmed.   
  
"I need a fresh start." He perches on the edge of his desk, trying to avoid her gaze.  
  
"You've been a public servant your whole adult life. Working with Tom is like, the polar opposite of that. You'll never be happy." She speaks with the same conviction she uses every time she's fighting for one of her projects. He sometimes wonders if that's all he was to her—just another project. But then, she never gave up so easily on her projects.  
  
"I haven't been particularly happy here, either," he says, staring over her shoulder so he doesn't have to meet her eyes.  
  
"You used to be." She lets it hang in the air, waiting for his response.  
  
He doesn't want to play this game, so he keeps his mouth shut.  
  
She fidgets in the silence. "It was a mistake. Breaking up with you. I know that now. This campaign—" she chokes on her words a little. "It doesn't mean what I thought it would. I'm not happy either. And it's because I made a mistake. I want you back. I don't like the idea of you leaving public service, but maybe this is a way we can finally be together—"  
  
"I'm not doing this for you," he snaps, the words coming out harsher than he intended. He sighs, and rubs his forehead.  
  
Softly, more deliberately, he speaks again. "You broke my heart. You never even gave me a chance to state my case—to help make the decision. You just decided for both of us. I don't think I'm ready to forgive you for that, yet." This is the first time he's been able to admit that out loud.  
  
She nods, biting her bottom lip.  
  
He sighs again. God, he hates hurting her. But if he's learned anything over the past year, it's that he can't trust her to put him first. Maybe she wants him now—but what about in two months? What about when Joan Callamezzo starts asking questions about how and when Leslie started dating her former boss? He's not convinced Leslie could stick it out. When the shit hits the fan, her first instinct is to run away. She did that to him once already, and he can't bear it if she does it again. So he's not going to put himself in that position in the first place.  
  
"Leslie—you know I still care about you. I probably always will. But I can't get involved again. It's not good for me. Or you." The thing he wants to say, but is utterly terrified to admit, is that he's still in love with her. No matter how much she hurt him, he hasn't been able to get over that. But no matter how much she says she wants him back, he's not convinced that she's in love with him, too—or that she ever was, or ever will be. That's one thing he just can't deal with. So instead, he makes excuses.  
  
"I'll be a negative on your campaign whether I'm still working for the city or not, and you know it."  
  
"Maybe I think you're worth losing a few points in the polls." She tries to look defiant, but mostly looks sad.  
  
"And maybe I don't belong in _any_ relationship right now," he counters. "Not just with you. I guess—I—I just don't know myself anymore. When I came here and met you I—everything changed. I thought I had a plan, and—and a career path, and ambitions. Everything mapped out. But as soon as I fell for you I tossed it all out the window." He shrugs, and shakes his head. "If it had really mattered to me that much, I never would have done that. All these years I've been devoting myself to a plan conceived by a 19 year old college freshman determined to make amends for his past. But I'm not that kid anymore. And I—I'm not sure who I am. I thought about going back to Indy, to work for the state. But that's not really that important to me anymore. And—and working for government at all doesn't really feel that important, either. I just need to try something new. I need time to sort myself out. So that's why I'm doing this." He feels so much relief, letting the words pour out of him. This is what's been building for months now—the epiphany he's been waiting for. And it feels so damn _right_.  
  
Leslie swipes away a tear that managed to make its way down her cheek. "And when you do figure yourself out, what then?"  
  
"I don't know." He shakes his head. "I really have no idea."  
  
She takes a deep breath. "I'll still be here when you figure it out."  
  
"I don't expect you to wait for me."  
  
"I know."  
  
His heart aches, and he knows that if he took her in his arms right now, she wouldn't stop him. But what the fuck is the point of having an epiphany if you're just going to ignore it? He needs to figure out who he is without government, and without Leslie. Until he does that, he's no good to anyone, least of all himself.  
  
"You deserve to win," he says at last. "I don't—I don't think I should come to weekly meetings. Not right now, at least. But you can still consider me a part of your campaign. And if you ever need any extra help, or number crunching, or whatever—just call. I'll be here, too."  
  
"Thanks." Another tear slides down her face. This time she lets it drop.  
  
He resists the urge to touch her. "I need to go now."  
  
"Okay."  
  
She steps away from the door and lets him pass. He feels himself shaking. A few steps past the door he looks over his shoulder. "I'll see you around."  
  
"See you around," she replies.  
  
And he walks away.

 

TBC


	2. In Which Ben Befriends Several Strippers

Tom's first official act as Ben's boss (it still feels weird to think of him that way) is to come over Saturday morning, go through Ben's entire wardrobe, and separate the clothes fit to wear in Entertainment 720's corporate headquarters from the clothes _not_ fit to wear to their office. The second pile is larger, and though Ben argues for a few of his shirts, he doesn't put up much of a fight. He kind of knew this is what he'd be getting into.  
  
Tom takes him to the mall and they spend five hours (roughly five times longer than Ben has ever shopped for clothes before) outfitting him with a new wardrobe "suitable for representing our smoking new enterprise," says Tom.  
  
Ben manages to avoid a 100% designer wardrobe by finding numerous knock-offs that look nearly identical to their designer inspirations, and he holds a hard line until Tom grudgingly backs down. After all, these are the kinds of decisions they hired him to make. And when Tom whips out the company debit card to pay for the over $500 in new items, Ben insists on footing the bill himself.   
  
"It would be utterly irresponsible if my first act as CFO was to expense my clothing using our start-up capital. I've got it covered—really."  
  
"Are you sure, dude? Because with you as our guide, Jean-Ralphio's pot of gold is just gonna keep on giving," replies Tom.  
  
Ben rolls his eyes and pays the bill himself. Living like a Spartan for the past few years has had its advantages—like money piling up in his savings and investment accounts. He has a sizable nest-egg that he used to think would buy him a nice condo once he stopped travelling, or could jump-start a political campaign. Or, for a few glorious weeks, he imagined it could buy an engagement ring and front-load a college savings account for potential future children.  
  
Now it's buying ridiculously over-priced new clothes for his ridiculous new job (which still doesn't feel quite real), and, as he learns later that night, paying a down-payment on a new car (because, as Tom says, with Jean-Ralphio agreeing in a hackneyed rap, "Cool dudes don't drive Saturns").  
  
To cap off the day, his new employers manage to get him a little drunk, try to set him up with three different girls (none of the girls go for it), and somehow get him to join in with a group "rap-along" session on their drive back to his place. All in all, it's a pretty good day.  
  
Until he comes inside to finding April and Andy role-playing again (won't they ever get over this particular fetish?).   
  
He escapes to his room as fast as he can, and seeks refuge in his high-end ear-buds and soothing music from his iPod played at a very loud volume. He's had to do this a lot over the past few months.  
  
As he drifts off to sleep his still slightly-drunk mind wanders back to his conversation with Leslie yesterday. What exactly does figuring himself out really mean? And how will he know when he's actually done it? And will Leslie really wait for him? Does he even _want_ her to wait for him? For a few fleeting moments he even lets himself wonder why the hell he didn't just take her up on her offer to get back together when he had the chance. But he pushes that thought aside. It's not healthy.  
  
He finally falls asleep while mentally weighing the pros and cons of different new cars. Because, really, he's got to get rid of that Saturn.  
  
*  
  
Most of Ben's first week with E-720 (as the guys call it around the office) is spent reviewing records and policies and trying to reign in his over-enthusiastic employers as they put together the finishing touches for their Friday night event. They're putting on the engagement party for a ritzy Eagleton couple, and Jean-Ralphio will also be filming the event to gather messages from the couples' well-wishers.  
  
Ben gets increasingly frustrated as the obsessive bride-to-be keeps calling in changes and Tom keeps agreeing to make those changes at no additional charge. Ben can see their profits eroding hour by hour. He also sees that the next few events have to be profitable enough to justify hiring a new office assistant. Jean-Ralphio's phone skills are atrocious, and Tom won't answer unless the caller ID announces that one of his pre-selected VIPs are calling. Ben ends up fielding most of the incoming calls himself, which was totally not part of his job description.  
  
In spite of a few last-minute changes on the day of the party, it goes off without any major hiccups. The caterers come through with a great spread of food, the décor and entertainment are actually pretty awesome, and Jean-Ralphio shows far more skill as a videographer than Ben expected. Unfortunately, with E-720's current "anything the client asks, we'll do" policy, they walk away with barely $1,000 in profit.  
  
Ben may have been in public service for most of his adult life, but he still knows that that's no way to run a business.  
  
So while Tom and Jean-Ralphio spend the weekend clubbing and playing putt-putt, Ben excuses himself. He stays in his room re-writing all of E-720's corporate policies, client agreements, and cash-flow management systems. He knows the other guys won't be too happy when he presents it all at their "staff brunch" Monday morning, but if they don't want to go belly up in less than year, they'll make the changes.  
  
Sunday night, as he's putting the final touches on all his proposals, he notices a new email from a very unexpected source: it's from Leslie.  
  
With some trepidation he clicks on the message, bearing the frustratingly vague subject line "Hi, you."  
  
 _"Has Ben Wyatt figured himself out yet? And/or has he decided to murder Jean-Ralphio and Tom in their sleep?  
  
"Thinking of you—Leslie"_  
  
Ben smiles. It's good to see he didn't kill her sense of humor with their last few emotionally-wrought encounters. And it's good to see that she's been thinking of him. He can't deny that thoughts of Leslie have popped into his head during some of his more stressful moments this past week.  
  
His hand is already on his cell phone, ready to push the speed dial for Leslie, when he stops himself. No. He's resolved to figure out who he is without being caught up in Leslie's orbit. That's never going to happen if he doesn't give himself a little space. A phone call is still too personal. But a short email wouldn't be too bad, would it?  
  
 _"Tom and Jean-Ralphio are still safe—for now. Ben Wyatt is just as lost as ever, but at least he's keeping busy trying to stop the Titanic from hitting any icebergs. Wish him luck.  
  
"Has Leslie Knope won the much-coveted endorsement of the Newport clan, yet?  
  
"Ben"_  
  
An hour later, just before shutting down his computer for the night, Ben gets a reply.  
  
 _"After reminding them of Sweetum's many profitable and public co-ventures with the Parks Department, and after promising that such support would certainly continue after she assumes the office of Mayor, Leslie Knope succeeded in her efforts to gain the Newport's endorsement.  
  
"She wishes Ben Wyatt equal good fortune in his own ventures.  
  
"Leslie"_  
  
For the first time in months, lying awake in bed while thinking of Leslie actually feels like a good thing.  
  
*  
  
Ben was right—Tom and Jean-Ralphio aren't too happy about his proposed changes. Especially about the new clause in their client agreement that states that "any changes requested by the client to the goods and services outlined in the accepted bid that result in higher expenses for Entertainment 720 will be billed directly to the client."  
  
The two put up a fight, insisting that wasn't how they rolled.  
  
"Then you'll roll your way right into bankruptcy," said Ben, taking a bite of his eggs while the other two sullenly stare at him, their brunch plates hardly touched.  
  
"Fine," Tom finally spits out. "We'll try things your way."  
  
"Are you sure?" Jean-Ralphio asks Tom.  
  
"I'm sure."  
  
Jean-Ralphio turns back to Ben. "Fine. We'll try things your way."  
  
This time Ben and Tom both roll their eyes together.  
  
The next six weeks speed by in a blur. A busy blur full of engagement and anniversary parties, a grand-re-opening of a local motorcycle dealership, and filming two commercials for that same motorcycle dealership. And both of Ben's employers come around to his new policies once he shows them that they're finally making big enough profits that they no longer have to tap into Jean-Ralphio's start-up capital to take home their paychecks.  
  
Every Sunday evening for those six weeks, Ben looks forward to a new ritual—exchanging email updates with Leslie.   
  
They keep things light—just fun anecdotes about their co-workers or projects they're working on. Leslie keeps him up to date on her campaign, and he reassures her that Tom and Jean-Ralphio might actually succeed at this crazy business venture of theirs.  
  
When, after four weeks, she finally dares ask whether or not Ben actually _likes_ his work, he feels comfortable enough to answer. In fact, he feels more comfortable with this strange email friendship they have then he did for the entire three months he was pretending to still be her work-friend and volunteering on her campaign after they broke up. He's not sure what it means, and he still doesn't dare call her, let alone see her face to face. But it's a start.  
  
He writes her that he doesn't hate the work, but he doesn't love it either. He doesn't care for the requisite schmoozing of clients, or the unreasonable demands, or following up on unpaid invoices. But he's starting to get a feel for life in the private sector, and he can see why so many people like running their own businesses. There's plenty of risk, to be sure, but there's also a sense of freedom and self-sufficiency that he really enjoys.   
  
She tells him that Ron would be proud.  
  
*  
  
The first big test of E-720's skills and reputation comes eight weeks into Ben's run as CFO.  
  
They're hosting the launch party for Dennis Feinstein's latest fragrance: _Sluts_. They've rented out the entire Glitter Factory for the private party, and hired lots of the dancers both for entertainment and to work as waitresses.  
  
The day before the party they have a meeting with all the girls. It's weird sitting in the Glitter Factory at 11 am with all the girls wearing normal clothes. Ben feels like he's in some sort of surreal alternate reality. Until Tom starts talking.  
  
"Ladies, we are delighted to have you working this amazing party for us tomorrow. The alcohol will be flowing, and so will the tips. Now, the good news—your number one job for the night will be looking beautiful, and you've all mastered that skill already." He grins, but none of the girls seem impressed. "Second, you'll be serving drinks and appetizers. And looking gorgeous at the same time. Third, you'll all be wearing _Sluts_ , by Dennis Feinstein, to demonstrate it to the crowd. Finally, you'll be taking shifts dancing. And remember—this is a lingerie event, not topless. But feel free to go as skimpy and sexy as you want. Got it?"   
  
The girls all nod sleepily, and a few of them roll their eyes.  
  
"Awesome," Tom claps his hands. "Now I've got to go work out some details with Mr. Feinstein's assistant. My pal Ben, here, can make sure you're all up to speed on your duties."  
  
Ben feels a palpable sense of relief as Tom takes off. "Hi," he says, slightly intimidated by the collective gaze of twenty-some-odd strippers in their day clothes. "So, uh, how many of you have waitressing experience?"  
  
More than half the girls raise their hands.   
  
"Great," he says. "Let me get your names." He goes around the group taking down names, and trying to memorize them. He'll be in charge of supervising the wait-staff tomorrow, so he needs to know what to call them all. A few more questions reveal that Crystal and Mindy have the most waitressing experience, so he makes them floor supervisors. He assigns the girls with no waitressing experience to most of the dancing shifts and to the appetizer trays, while the girls with lots of experience will be collecting and delivering drink orders.  
  
As he works through the schedules and assignments, the girls all loosen up and seem more relaxed. By the end of the meeting they're actually smiling and joking. For the most part, they seems like really nice, normal women. If Ben hadn't known what they did for a living, he never would have guessed.  
  
"Awesome," he says as they wrap things up. "I think we're all squared away. Don't forget to show up for prep ninety minutes before the party starts. And I think that covers it. Any questions before we leave?"  
  
One of the ladies raises her hand.  
  
He searches his mind for her name, and finds it just in time. "Yes, LaTonya?"  
  
Her lips curl in a mischievous grin. "Yeah. Can I take you out for coffee?"  
  
Ben's jaw drops, and he feels warmth rushing to his face. "I—uh—well—today isn't good for me. Still working on more last minute details for the party. I'll have to give you a rain check on that for now."  
  
"I'll hold you to that," she says, her eyes boldly staring him up and down.  
  
He stammers a few more parting words and then ends the meeting. As the girls filter out, Jean-Ralphio rushes up to him. "Dude—did I just hear LaTonya asking you out to coffee? She is smoking hot."  
  
"Um—yeah. She's very—uh—pretty," Ben mumbles, clutching his pad-folio to his chest.  
  
"Why'd you turn her down? I'd kill for a girl like that to hit on me."  
  
"I just—um—got caught off guard."  
  
Jean-Ralphio shakes his head, grinning. "Tom is never gonna believe this."  
  
Great. Just great.  
  
*  
  
For the next thirty-some-odd hours, every time the guys at E-720 have a break in between event-planning tasks they pester Ben endlessly about LaTonya's invitation. Their comments range from envy to incredulity to outright teasing for his inability to "land the hot stripper" who hit on him in front of all her friends.  
  
The afternoon before the party, as they're setting up the decorations and arranging the buffet area inside the club, Tom finally blurts out, "I just don't get it. I've been hitting on all these girls for years, and never got anywhere. All you do is run one stupid meeting for an hour, and _they_ start hitting on _you_. What have you got that I don't?"  
  
Ben pauses in his efforts to get the table skirt on the buffet to hang straight (another duty he never would have imagined as part of his job description) and glares at Tom. Fed up with all the teasing he retorts, "Uh, maybe it's because I treated them like rational, capable human beings instead of sex objects. Ever thought of trying that?"  
  
Tom just scowls and shakes his head. "Fine. If you don't want to share your secret, don't. But I thought we were friends, man. This is totally not cool."  
  
What more can Ben do than roll his eyes and get back to work?  
  
It's unsettling seeing the women who, just yesterday, seemed so normal now looking like exotic creatures with their faces plastered in thick glitter-infused make-up and wearing nothing but skimpy lingerie. Ben has a hard time knowing where to look, so he does his utmost to look either at the trays of drinks and food, or to make direct eye-contact. Anything else leaves him flustered and uncomfortable.  
  
A half an hour before the party kicks off, one of the girls (who looks like she can't be older than 20, though he doesn't dare ask because they have her serving alcohol and getting in trouble with the state is the last thing he wants to deal with right now) corners Ben. He meets her eyes, dredging up her name—Tiffany.  
  
"If you guys need more waitressing, or set-up help, or decorating help, or office help, or whatever, I'm looking to get out of the dancing game and I'd love a job." She fixes him with a firm, confident gaze.  
  
"Oh. Really?"  
  
"Yes. Really. Not everyone wants to do this for a living, you know."  
  
"Of course. Of course," he stammers. "Well—uh—do a good job out there tonight. Show me what you're capable of. And then we'll talk."  
  
She nods. "You won't be disappointed."  
  
Tiffany's right. She's stellar at schmoozing the guests, remembers every drink order perfectly, and even saves a few other girls from making mistakes. One of the floor supervisors, Crystal, is also very impressive with her competence and professionalism. He can't help but wonder how these women ended up in their profession in the first place.  
  
Long after midnight, as the party is finally winding down, Tiffany corners him again. "Well?" she says, her hands perched on her hips.  
  
Ben quirks a smile and nods. "You did good." He's not quite sure what kind of position, either permanent or temporary, they'd be able to offer her. But she's certainly earned the right to come state her case. "Let's set a time early next week. You can come by the office and we can talk over any potential options."  
  
"How's Monday?" she replies, with a no-nonsense look in her eyes.  
  
"Okay." He pulls out his smart-phone and scrolls through his schedule for Monday. "How's ten o'clock?"  
  
"Perfect. I'll be there. But I want to talk to _you_ first, before you bring in those other two. You're obviously the brains of the operation."  
  
Ben's not quite sure how to respond, so he just nods. "Sure. See you Monday at ten."  
  
Tiffany's about to turn away when she stops and raises a pointer finger in the air. "One more thing."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"LaTonya wanted me to tell you that she's going to hold you to that coffee date."  
  
With a grin and a wink, Tiffany turns and strides off in her tall spiked heels.  
  
The next evening Ben emails Leslie:  
  
 _"In Ben Wyatt's professional capacity as CFO of Entertainment 720, he had the distinct pleasure of hosting an event at the Glitter Factory, and one of the strippers started hitting on him. It was a deeply surreal experience.  
  
"Still scratching his head—Ben"_  
  
Not long after, Leslie replies:  
  
 _"She has good taste. Nevertheless, Ben Wyatt has succeeded in making Leslie Knope just a bit jealous. Let her know if E-720 ever plans on hosting an event with the Chippendale dancers. If she attends, maybe one of them will hit on her, too, and return equilibrium to the universe.  
  
"Still laughing and maybe sharing this one with Ann (sorry—can't help it)—Leslie"_  
  
*  
  
In her designer suit with tasteful, conservative jewelry, Tiffany looks very professional. She still doesn't look older than 20—but a very professional 20.  
  
Still unsure of her motives, Ben begins, "So—uh—why exactly are you interested in working for Entertainment 720?"  
  
"Honestly?" Tiffany leans forward, placing her hands on the conference table that sits between the two of them. "You're kind of my last resort. I started dancing to pay my way through college, and I graduated from Pawnee Community with my bachelors in accounting nine months ago. I can prove it—I've got the diploma right here in my briefcase. What I hadn't counted on was the fact that no respectable business wanted to hire someone who's only work experience is at the Glitter Factory. You guys aren't exactly respectable, but you're still a huge step up from dancing. Six good months with you, and I can get a job anywhere. And frankly—" She leans back, folding her arms across her chest and lets her eyes wander disdainfully over the shoddy furniture and garish décor. "You guys need the help."  
  
The corners of Ben's lips involuntarily quirk up into a smile. This kid has an attitude, but around here that might be a good thing. At least she won't take any shit from Tom and Jean-Ralphio. "A degree in accounting, huh?"  
  
"Yes. You wanna see my diploma? I have my transcripts, too. Straight A student—just so you know." She reaches for her briefcase.  
  
He glances over her papers, but he's already made up his mind. "We wouldn't be able to offer you any benefits. And your salary will probably be half of what you're making as a dancer."  
  
Her tough-as-nails expression starts to soften as hope shines in her eyes. "I'm young and healthy. I don't need health insurance or anything. And I don't care about a lower salary—I've been living cheap and saving up."  
  
Ben nods and stands up. "Come with me."   
  
Tiffany follows him out of the conference room and into the "executive office" where Tom and Jean-Ralphio had two large desks, a sofa, a 54 inch flat screen with a PS3 and a high-end sound system. They're having one of their caffeine-fueled brainstorming sessions accompanied by pounding hip-hop music.  
  
They both freeze as Ben leads Tiffany in. "Hi guys. I'd like you meet Tiffany Dalton—our new Executive Assistant."  
  
Just as he expected, Tiffany takes the news with a cool, collected smile. Tom and Jean-Ralphio, on the other hand, leap to their feet and start throwing out flirtatious lines, and Tom gives Ben a big thumbs up.   
  
Ben leans in toward Tiffany. "Are you sure you you're up for these two? You've got your work cut out for you."  
  
"I can handle it."  
  
He's pretty sure she can.  
  
*  
  
It takes Tiffany less than 48 hours to have Tom and Jean-Ralphio thoroughly whipped. Her tastes are pretty well in line with theirs, but slightly more refined—and more budget conscious. They start following her around like puppy dogs, letting her in on client meetings and brainstorming sessions and deferring to her more often than not. She also knows her stuff around the computer software, and catches onto Ben's accounting system, budget plans, and business strategies just as quickly as he'd hoped she would. Plus, her phone skills are fantastic. (Ben is so relieved that he doesn't have to play the part of receptionist anymore that he can relax enough to thoroughly enjoy his four hour video-game marathon with Tom on Wednesday night.)  
  
In fact, Ben feels as if a huge burden has been lifted from his shoulders. Tiffany can keep Tom and Jean-Ralphio in line and run the office, so he can focus on immediate budgetary concerns and long-term financial planning—the fun stuff. Sure, they'll have to dip into the start-up capital once in a while to keep all the salaries paid, but with Tiffany's help they'll also be able to take on more clients to make up the difference. Soon they'll be back in the black. Plus, it feels pretty good to help a smart and ambitious kid get her first chance in a career that uses her brains instead of her body. It's been months since Ben did something that actually _helped_ people, and he's almost forgotten how good it feels.  
  
Still basking in the glow of his success, on Thursday he treats himself to a relaxing lunch on a shady bench in Ramsett Park with his favorite sub-sandwich, a tall Coke, and some games on his new iPad. (So he's not above the occasional self-indulgence. And he uses it for work just often enough to justify writing off the expense. Plus, it's pretty freaking cool.)  
  
He's so absorbed in his goal of beating each level of Angry Birds in as few attempts as possible that he's only peripherally aware of the sound of children playing nearby. It's only when a nerf football suddenly hits him in the head that he looks up with a start.  
  
"Oh my god! Davey!" calls a familiar female voice, but Ben only sees a very small boy staring at him with wide eyes.  
  
"Um—" Ben picks the ball off the bench where it landed and extends it toward the tow-headed child. "Is this yours?"  
  
The boy nods as his mother skids to a halt beside him. "Ben?" she says.  
  
He looks up and raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Crystal?" This is certainly the last place he expected to run into another of the Glitter Factory dancers.   
  
"I am so sorry," she says, shaking her head and taking the ball. "He's got a hell of an arm, but lousy aim."  
  
"It's no problem. I'm fine. Just a little surprised, is all."  
  
Crystal takes her boy by the shoulders and leads him closer to Ben. "Davey, apologize to this nice man for hitting him with your ball."  
  
Davey squirms for a moment, and then finally says, "Sowwy."  
  
Crystal hands him his football. "Now Jonah is over _there_. Go. Play." She sends the boy off running toward his friend. "I'm really sorry about that."  
  
"Really—it's fine." He smiles at the sight of the little boy running off to join his friend. Ben always thought having kids would be pretty cool. He's spent some time wondering what kind of mom Leslie would be—but he really shouldn't be thinking about that right now. Instead, he looks back up at Crystal. "I didn't know you had kids."  
  
"Kid," she corrects, sitting down beside him. "Davey's mine, but Jonah is Missy's littlest. Her other son, Billy, is in first grade."   
  
To get his mind off the sudden thoughts of _Leslie_ and _family_ , Ben starts asking Crystal about Davey—who turns out to be just barely 4. He loves football and dinosaurs and trucks, just like any normal 4 year old boy, and Crystal clearly adores him. Ben doesn't know why he should be surprised that strippers have families. They're normal human beings, after all. "So Missy's working the afternoon shift?"  
  
"Yep." Crystal nods. "The afternoon has the worst tips, but we all have to take our turns there—especially the moms. We just can't make babysitting work for everyone all the time."  
  
"Too bad there isn't some sort of night-time daycare, or something."  
  
Crystal smiles. "Funny you mention that. Missy lives with her sister, and they're actually working on setting up a night-time childcare service out of their house. They're just trying to finalize all the permits and stuff, and then she's gonna quit the club and work childcare full-time."  
  
Ben thinks that's a great idea, and tells Crystal so.  
  
"Yeah—most of us are looking for a way to get of the dancing gig, eventually. This is Missy's way. I've been looking into Dental Hygiene school."  
  
"I've heard that pays pretty well." One of Ben's cousins is a dental hygienist. "And good hours for raising a family."  
  
"Exactly! I actually got accepted into the local hygiene school, but I'm having trouble getting together enough money for tuition and childcare." She frowns. "I was counting on the child support to help cover the costs, but Davey's dad split town a few months ago and we haven't heard from him since."  
  
"He just abandoned his kid? What an asshole." One of Ben's sisters is facing a similar situation. He doesn't have much tolerance for deadbeat dads. "Have you tried getting access to his accounts, or garnishing his wages—that's what my sister's doing with her ex."  
  
"I'm working on it. But his local accounts are empty and I don't have the money for a PI to try to track him down. So we're pretty much screwed. And even though I think Missy's idea is great, I know it'll cost an arm and leg, and even being able to work more nights won't completely make up for the cost. I'm starting think hygiene school is a pipe dream."  
  
Ben taps his fingers on his lap. Why does he suddenly wonder: _What would Leslie do?_ He pushes the thought out of his mind, instead focusing on what Ben should do.  
  
"You know—I've heard of state and federal grant programs designed to help single moms pay for childcare so they can go back to school. If you want, I could do a little research on them and see what I can find."  
  
Crystal's eyes go wide with wonder. "Really—you'd do that for me?"  
  
He shrugs his shoulders. "Sure. I've got a little free time. I'd be happy to help out."  
  
She shakes her head. "You are just too good to be true, Ben Wyatt. Too bad LaTonya already called dibs."  
  
He laughs sheepishly, and feels his face getting warm.  
  
"Seriously, though—how did a guy like you end up working with guys like Tom and Jean-Ralphio? No offense, but they're kind of douches."   
  
"I, uh, can't disagree on that point. I'm hoping to be a good example, but I'm not sure if it's working." He chuckles, and runs his hand through his hair. "Really, though, Tom and I used to work together at City Hall, and he offered me the job right when I was looking for a change."  
  
She arches her eyebrow. "You gave up the security of a government job to be a party planner?"  
  
"Yep. Pretty stupid, huh? But, uh, it was actually—it was actually because of a woman." He can't believe he's telling her this, but really, he's had no one but Leslie to confide in (she doesn't really count), and he doesn't dare tell Tom (who knows what he might do?). It feels good to talk about it with an outsider. "I—I fell in love with a co-worker. But in the government there are rules about people who work together not dating. So we had to keep it a secret. And she eventually got too scared of taking the risk, and broke up with me."  
  
"Oh my god," Crystal says, her voice full of sympathy.  
  
"I guess I understand. I mean—she's really ambitious, and her job is everything to her. I was just hoping—you know—that maybe I could be that important, too. But I guess not." He shakes his head. "After a few months I couldn't take working with her anymore, so when Tom offered me the job, I jumped at the chance. I don't really see myself staying with it long-term, but for now it does the trick." He sighs. "And now that I'm not in government anymore, my ex and I started doing this email thing—kind of like being flirty pen pals or something. I don't know. She wants to get back together, and I still have feelings for her, but I'm just not sure." He hunches over, staring at the grass. It only now occurs to him that he came here for lunch because Leslie loves this place so much. God, he's hopeless.  
  
"I get it. I mean, she hurt you once—how can you be sure she won't do it again?" says Crystal.  
  
"Exactly!" Damn, it feels good to finally have someone on his side.  
  
"That's how it was with Davey's dad." Crystal sighs. "He seemed like such a good guy, so I kept giving him more chances. And look how _that_ ended up. Not that your girl would do the same thing. Maybe she'd actually stick with you."  
  
They chat for a few minutes more, and Ben gets her phone number, promising to call her once he's had a chance to look into those grants. He waves good-bye to Davey as he heads to his car (He bought a two year old Civic. Not as hip or sexy as Tom wanted him to get, but enough of a step up from a 6 year old Saturn that the guys stopped teasing him about it after just a few days.) Somehow he feels better, knowing that he's not crazy for feeling the way he does, but also feels worse after getting an outside opinion that Leslie might just hurt him all over again.  
  
At least he has a new project to distract him. Helping out Crystal might be just the thing he needs to take his mind off of Leslie for a while.  
  
*  
  
Friday morning, Ben heads downtown to stop in at the bakery where they're getting the cake and cookies for the Sweet 16 bash Joan Callamezzo is throwing for her daughter. He's trying to negotiate down the price.  
  
As he walks up to the bakery door, it swings open and Leslie steps out.  
  
They both freeze, staring. Ben feels like a chipmunk that's just been spotted by a hawk. Then Leslie's face breaks into a warm smile. "Ben—hi!"  
  
"Uh—hi." He tries to smile back. His heart pounds in his chest, and he can feel his palms sweating. It's been over two months since he saw her face to face, and he wasn't ready for the impact it would have on him. His guts are churning, and he feels dizzy and excited and terrified and hopeful all at the same time.  
  
Then Leslie scuttles aside as a small parade of people follow her out of the bakery—including a camera man, a sound guy, and, astonishingly, Perd Hapley.  
  
Ben can feel that hawk diving toward him, ready to sink in its talons. "Wow. Uh—what's all this?"  
  
"We're visiting several Main Street businesses for a candidate-on-the-street feature," chirps Leslie, still grinning—but he thinks he detects a hint of strain in her eyes.  
  
"That's—that's cool. I'm just, uh, doing some E-720 business. You know." He gestures at the bakery, and catches Perd Hapley glaring at him.  
  
"Perd, you remember my former colleague, Ben Wyatt, don't you?"  
  
Perd extends his arm, and gives Ben a very cold handshake. "Of course." Clearly he hasn't forgotten the Human Disaster.   
  
They stare awkwardly at one another for just a moment, and then Leslie says. "Well, good running into you. But we're on a schedule—no time to dally. Have a good day!" And with that she spins on her heels, leading the procession down the street toward another cluster of family-owned shops.  
  
Ben gasps for air as he watches her walk away. That was it? Not even a promise to talk later, or a joke, or anything other than cool professionalism? He feels like he's been doused with a huge bucket of cold water.  
  
Somehow he muddles his way through the negation with the baker, but only talks down the price by half of what he was hoping for. His head keeps spinning in confusion and frustration for the rest of the day.  
  
He works late, trying to distract himself in the mundane task of price comparing party décor. When he gets home, he downs a bland microwave burrito and crashes on his bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what happened. That's when his cell phone rings.  
  
The caller ID says it's Leslie.  
  
The burrito feels like acid in his gut, and his heart pounds a frantic rhythm in his chest. Should he answer, or shouldn't he? The ringtone seems to go on forever. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets it go to voice mail.  
  
It takes him nearly half an hour to work up the courage to listen to the message.  
  
 _"Hi Ben. Sorry about the weirdness this morning. I was so surprised to see you, I had no idea what to say. And with Perd hovering over us like that—I kind of panicked. But I think I might have been a little rude, and I'm really sorry. It was actually really good to see you again. Like—_ really _good. So—I'm sorry. And, I, uh, hope we can talk soon. Bye."_  
  
How exactly is he supposed to take this? So she blows him off when people that matter are watching, but when she's alone she's allowed to flirt? Is that how it is? Ugh. He can't take this. He needs a drink. Many drinks.  
  
Thinking ahead, he calls a cab and asks if the driver knows any good bars in Eagleton.  
  
"Sure do. Looking for a change of pace?" asks the driver.  
  
"Something like that. I just want to make sure I end up someplace where no one knows me."  
  
"We all have those days, buddy. I'll take you to a good place."   
  
When they reach the bar the driver hands Ben his card. "When you're ready to go home, just call my cell directly. I'll remember how to get you home—you won't even need to remember your address." He winks as Ben takes the card.  
  
Ben sighs. Is he that obvious?  
  
Just inside the bar door he's momentarily distracted by a poster announcing an upcoming "Evening with Duke Silver," a local performer who looks stunningly similar to Ron Swanson. But the poster doesn't hold his attention for long when he hears someone calling out his name.  
  
Fuck.  
  
He looks up to see Tiffany, LaTonya, Mindy, and Layla all seated near the bar. They wave him over, and now that he's made eye-contact it's too late to pretend he didn't see them. They quickly shift their seats and pull up another chair for him as he walks over.  
  
He sheepishly sits down as they all welcome him with enthusiasm.  
  
"Tiff told us all about the sweet-ass job you gave her," says LaTonya, her eyes twinkling in the low light. "We all have the night off, so we thought we'd bring her out to celebrate. You got here just in time."  
  
"Well—I don't want to intrude on your celebration—" Ben starts, looking for a way to escape.  
  
"Stay," insists Tiffany. "Unless you're here to meet someone?"  
  
"No. Not meeting anyone."  
  
LaTonya raises her eyebrows. "So you're just out cruising for chicks?"  
  
His face gets hot and he shakes his head. "No." He might as well tell them the truth. "Actually, I had a pretty crappy day and just came out to get wasted."  
  
"Well, we can help you with that." LaTonya snaps her fingers and orders another round of shots—two for Ben, so he can catch up.  
  
He feels a little awkward as the ladies launch into full-on girl talk around him, but it is a nice distraction from his dark thoughts. The shots help, too. Eventually, Tiffany starts telling stories about Tom and Jean-Ralphio, and Ben, feeling a little looser after three shots, joins right in. Soon he's laughing right along with all the girls.  
  
"So is that why you had a crappy day?" asks LaTonya as they finish the fourth round of shots. "Were Tom and Jean-Ralphio acting up again?"  
  
"Nope. I ran into my ex this morning." The words come out before he even thinks, and he blinks in surprise.  
  
"Ex-wife or ex-girlfriend?" asks Mindy.  
  
"Girlfriend," he replies. "But I wanted to marry her." He knows he's more than halfway drunk already when those words slip out. He feels a little crazy—a little uninhibited. "I mean, we were only together for two months, but I was already looking at engagement rings. Who does that? I guess I'm just a fucking idiot, or something."  
  
"I think it's sweet," says Layla. "You're a romantic."  
  
"A romantic." He laughs bitterly. "Yeah. That's me. Is it hot in here?" He loosens his tie, and undoes the top button of his shirt.  
  
"Why'd you break up?" asks LaTonya, leaning toward him. "Did she cheat on you?"  
  
He shakes his head and starts rolling up his sleeves. "I almost wish she had. It would make it so much easier to get over her. No—she dumped me for her career."  
  
The eyebrows of all four girls shoot up. Now that he's started talking, Ben can't seem to stop. "I was her boss—or one of her bosses. And there was a policy that we weren't supposed to date, so we had to keep things quiet, because if _my_ boss found out, he could have fired us. And when she had a big opportunity come up for—" he hesitates, not wanting to give away _too_ much, "—for a promotion, she decided I wasn't worth the risk, and dumped me."  
  
"Bitch," says Mindy. The other girls agree, and start piling on. Ben winces and waves his hands to stop them.  
  
"She's not that bad. She's just ambitious. I mean, I totally get why she broke up with me. I don't think she did anything wrong. I'm the idiot here. I let myself get too carried away in a relationship that was doomed from the start. I screwed up and let myself fall in love with someone who cared about her career more than anything else. I knew that going in." He slams his palms on the table, feeling more unhinged than he has since that pre-Harvest Festival media fiasco. "I'm, like, totally mentally defective, or something. I mean—I quit that job to get away from her, but then she started sending me all these flirty emails, and talking about getting back together. And I bought it. I fell for it all over again. I'm such a fucking idiot." He rests his face in his hands. "And then, when I ran into her today, she did something that reminded me that in her life, career will always be number one. I'll never be more than second place. And I deserve more than that, don't I?" He stares desperately around at the girls, searching for confirmation.  
  
"Absolutely." "You better believe it." "Hell, yes."  
  
He grins as all the girls nod and leap to his defense.  
  
"You know what you need?" says LaTonya. "You need to come dance with me. Right now." She stands and pulls Ben to his feet.  
  
He mumbles something about not being much of a dancer, but she ignores his protests and leads him out onto the dance floor. A mediocre cover band is playing, but the tunes have a nice beat. Ben manages to shuffle and bob to the music while LaTonya dances next to him. The bright white of her smile shines in the dim light, and it feels pretty good to have that kind of smile directed right at him.  
  
When the band transitions into a slower song, LaTonya pulls him close, and he doesn't stop her, draping his arms loosely around her waist. They sway to the melody, and Ben closes his eyes, breathing her in. She smells really good. And then he feels her lips on his cheek, and then on the corner of his mouth. And then her lips are pressed against his, and when her tongue darts out he lets his mouth open just a little to let her in.  
  
It feels really damn good. He hasn't touched anyone like this since Leslie—and that's when his mind wakes up a little he starts to panic.  
  
He pulls back, leaving LaTonya staring at him with raised eyebrows.  
  
"Sorry. Sorry. I—uh—that was—was really nice. But, I—I don't think I'm ready to try a new relationship yet."  
  
She grins wryly. "No shit. You are way too hung up on this ex of yours for me to even _think_ about dating you right now. But I was thinking that if you want to come back to my place later, just to have some fun, it might cheer you up a little." Her eyes twinkled. "Or a lot."  
  
Ben feels dizzy. Women like LaTonya simply _did not_ invite him home for casual sex. Or, at least, they never had before. "Uh—" he stands, staring, like an idiot for a few moments, until LaTonya looks like she's about to start laughing at him. Part of him wants to say yes—because, after all, he's a guy. And she's a very good-looking woman. And he hasn't had sex in nearly six months. But the other part of him knows that he's never been good at the one-night-stand thing, and he'll just feeling guilty and weird in the morning. And he'll probably end up so on edge about it that he'll let something slip to Tom, and then he'll never hear the end of it. And Tiffany might get mad at him for talking about her friend to Tom, and Tiffany is the best thing happening at the office right now, so having her mad at him would be a very bad thing. And if he's out having one-night-stands, does that mean Leslie is out having them too? And, oh god, he just can't think about that right now.   
  
His mouth is hanging open, and he starts to wobble on his feet.  
  
LaTonya rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Fine. Don't worry about it. Maybe some other time."  
  
"Sorry," he mumbles.  
  
She just laughs. "You really need to get over this girl. Come on. Let's get some more shots." So they do.  
  
A few shots later he finds himself on the dance floor in the middle of all four beautiful woman, swaying and waving his arms to the music as if he can actually dance. Until he thinks he sees a cat running across the dance floor and freaks out. That's when Tiffany leads him back to the bar and gets him a glass of cold water.  
  
"You know who should be here?" he slurs. "My ex. She should totally be here to see that I'm fine. I'm just fine. I'll call her—" He reaches to pull his phone out of his pocket, but Tiffany grabs his arm.  
  
"Oh no you don't," she says.  
  
"But I want her to see how fine I am."  
  
For some reason Tiffany laughs at him. "How about you wait and tell her tomorrow?"  
  
Ben shrugs. "Okay. I'll tell her tomorrow." He takes a gulp of his water, wondering why she didn't get him another shot. "And you know what else? I'll tell her that I'm fucking amazing at my job. Because I _am_ fucking amazing at my job. E-720 would have gone down _months_ ago if it wasn't for me."  
  
"You betcha," replies Tiffany.   
  
He notices that she's sipping on a beer. Why doesn't he have beer? "Why don't I have beer? And how old are you, anyway? Cause you look like you're nineteen or twenty. Should you even be drinking?"  
  
"I'm twenty-three. And you are way too drunk."  
  
"I'm not too drunk. I'm fine. Didn't I just say I was fine?" He jumped from his stool. "Shit! That cat! I swear to god, I saw that cat again!" He really did—a gray blurry shape running beneath people's feet. Or maybe it was a really big rat?  
  
"Okay. I think it's time to get you home. Did you drive?"  
  
"No. I took a cab. And this really great cab driver said to call him and he'd come bring me home." He pulls the driver's card out of his pocket, and Tiffany takes it and pulls out her phone. Maybe she's right. Maybe he should go home. He doesn't want to keep dancing if there's rats in here.  
  
Before long the cab shows up, and Tiffany puts him in it, and gets in herself.  
  
"Remember where he lives?" she asks.  
  
"I've got it covered," replies the driver.  
  
Halfway home, Ben perks up enough to ask, "Hey, wasn't that your celebration? Why'd you leave your celebration?"  
  
Tiffany smiles. "You got me the job. I owe you. Don't worry about it."  
  
When they get to Ben's house the driver helps Tiffany get him across the lawn and through the door. When they get inside, Andy leaps up from playing Xbox and takes Ben off of Tiffany's hands.  
  
"Hey—are you staying?" Andy asks Tiffany, with wide eyes and a boyish grin.  
  
"Nope. This a delivery only. See you Monday, Ben," she says, and follows the driver back out to the cab.  
  
"Bye," Ben calls weakly as she walks out.  
  
Andy and April help him stumble to his room, and lay him down on his bed, pulling off his shoes.  
  
"Wow," says April. "I haven't seen him this wasted since Leslie first dumped him."  
  
Her words cut through the haze enveloping Ben's mind, and he starts to laugh. He never told either of the Dwyers that he was dating Leslie, and he never told them that they broke up. It looks like he didn't need to.  
  
"Sleep it off, dude," says Andy.  
  
Ben's still chuckling when they leave and close his door.  
  
He pulls off his tie and rolls onto his side, but something in his pocket is bugging him. He pulls out his phone, and stares at it for a minute.  
  
Muscle memory kicks in and his fingers immediately push the speed dial for Leslie.  
  
She answers after just two rings. "Ben? Are you okay? It's past midnight. What's going on?"  
  
He sighs. "Oh, Leslie, Leslie, Leslie. God, I miss your voice." His voice comes out in a gravelly slur.  
  
"Ben—are you drunk?"  
  
He starts to laugh again. "Yep. Yeppers. Yepper-doodle-doo."  
  
"Are you stuck somewhere? Do you need me to come pick you up?"  
  
He coughs to clear his throat. "Nope. Tiffany got me home. And this really great cab driver. He was really great. You should meet him."  
  
"Tiffany?"  
  
Something in her voices sets off an alarm in the still-lucid part of his brain. "She works for me. Us. Tom, and—and—you know. She just dropped me off at home."  
  
"Oh. So you were out with Tom and Tiffany?"  
  
He rubs his forehead. "No. With Tiffany and the girls. And they kept buying me shots. And I told them about you, and how you broke my heart. And they started saying really mean things about you, but I stopped them. Because you're great. You're awesome. You just really love your job. And Pawnee. And I should have known that stuff would always come first for you, so, uh, really, it was, uh, kinda my fault." He smacks his lips. His mouth feels dry.  
  
"Is that really what you think?" Leslie sounds pained. Why? What did he say? He needs to cheer her up. What would cheer her up?  
  
Finally, he thinks of something. "One of the girls wanted to take me home and give me sympathy sex. But I couldn't—couldn't. I just couldn't. Cause I still miss you. God, I miss you. I miss your pretty hair. And how your feet were always cold at night, so you'd stick them in between my legs to warm them up. And how you'd read to me out of your favorite biographies while I was falling asleep. And I even miss waffles. Did you know I lied when I told you I love waffles? Cause I don't. But now I miss them. Haven't touched a waffle since we broke up."  
  
"Ben." Leslie still doesn't sound happy. Why doesn't she sound happy yet? "You're really drunk. I think you need to hang up the phone and go to sleep."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Really. We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"  
  
"Okay." Maybe she's right. He does feel really sleepy. "Buh-bye."  
  
"Goodnight, Ben."

TBC


	3. In Which Ben Embraces His Inner Entrepreneur

Ben's head feels like it's going to explode when he wakes up. He stumbles to the bathroom, strips off his clothes and gets in the shower. He's massaging the shampoo into his scalp to try to ease the pain in his head when the memory comes back to him—he drunk dialed Leslie, didn't he?  
  
Shit.  
  
He doesn't really remember what he said to her, but it can't have been good. This totally doesn't help his headache.  
  
He finishes his shower, pops some Excedrin, dresses, and goes out for a tall coffee and a bagel sandwich. Maybe the food and caffeine will help clear his head. Help him remember the undoubtedly awful things he said to her. But they don't—at least, not much.  
  
He checks his email on his iPad after breakfast. There's a new message from Leslie. Crap.   
  
He opens it with great trepidation.  
  
 _"Hi Ben. Based on how drunk you sounded, I'm guessing you don't really remember our conversation from last night. But I just wanted you to know that I still miss you, too.  
  
"I think, maybe, it's time we try meeting again. We could go out to lunch sometime. What do you think?  
  
"Leslie"_  
  
Shit shit shit.  
  
Ben thinks about her invitation all morning while he does his laundry and cleans the kitchen. He thinks about her invitation all afternoon while he plays putt-putt with Tom and Jean-Ralphio. (He tried to teach them real golf—Ben actually played intramural golf all through college—but they sucked so bad that they've gone back to nothing but putt-putt. Ben tries to let them win once in a while.) He thinks about her invitation all night while eating some nachos and nursing a beer at Mouse Rat's latest gig.  
  
And he thinks about how completely fucked up he still is about her. He still doesn't know what he wants to do with his life. He has nothing of his own to offer her. Not yet.  
  
That's when it hits him—his second epiphany of the summer.  
  
This whole "finding himself" quest has never really been about impressing Leslie, or making himself worthy of Leslie (well—maybe a little, but there's much more than just that). It's been about impressing himself—making himself worthy of the same kind of admiration that he's always felt for Leslie.   
  
She inspires him. From the first week of knowing her he's thought of her as a kind of small-town hero. Someone who charges in to save the day, no matter what. He used to feel like that, way back when he first got the inkling that he just might win his mayoral election in Partridge. So he charged forward to save the day—and fell flat on his face. Ever since then he's been playing it safe. Following the old adage that slow and steady wins the race.  
  
But real heroes aren't slow and steady—they press forward and make things happen. That's who Leslie is. And that's who he wants to be again. Maybe that's why he gave Tiffany the job, and offered to help Crystal. Because that's the kind of proactive service and problem solving that heroes do.  
  
When he was first infatuated with Leslie, and then when he started dating her, he picked up on some of her "charge-into-action" hero attitude, but still mostly hung onto her coattails.  
  
He wants more than that now. He finally wants to be the hero of his own story. And once he is, he can either win Leslie back or realize that he's ready to move on. Either way he'll be in a place to make life his own instead of just jumping onto someone else's bandwagon.  
  
Before bed he sits down at his laptop and sends Leslie a reply.  
  
 _"I'm sorry about the whole drunk-dial thing. And I swear I didn't use your name or give out enough personal details for my friends to figure out who I was talking about, so there won't be any backlash on your campaign.  
  
"I don't think I’m ready to see you again, yet. I'm starting to figure out who I want to be, and what I want to do with my life, but I'm not there yet. And until I am, I still need a little space.   
  
"I'm sorry—Ben."_  
  
*  
  
There's no reply from Leslie in the morning.  
  
He tries not to let it bug him. She's probably mad at him right now for turning her down. He needs to give her time. Anyway, he asked for more space, didn't he? Maybe she's just giving him what he needs.  
  
He has lunch with Chris (their third since he quit), and they go to the driving range after. Now _Chris_ knows how to golf. They really need to set a time for a full 18 holes while the weather is still good.  
  
Over lunch Chris goes through his usual laments about how it's still been impossible to find a suitable replacement for Ben, but it isn't until they buy some cold drinks to rehydrate after the driving range that Chris finally admits the dilemma he's found himself in.  
  
"There are two new proposals from the library," Chris says, clutching his water bottle with both hands. "And they're both fantastic. They'd really benefit the community. And I'm determined to find a way to fund them both, but I can't seem to make the numbers work. No matter how many times I pull the budget apart and put it back together, there doesn't seem to be an answer." He sighs. "I know you're very busy with your entrepreneurial efforts—but this is exactly the sort of task you always excelled at. Is there any chance I could induce you to help?"  
  
Ben raises his eyebrows. Help? What exactly does that mean? Is this a back-door way of trying to get him to take his old job back?  
  
"I would pay you, if that's what you're worried about," says Chris. "You could come in as a contracted consultant, just for this one project. And you could work it around your normal business schedule. Just name a reasonable hourly rate, and I'll pay it."  
  
"Huh," says Ben, the gears in his mind spinning. A contracted financial consultant—that's an idea full of interesting possibilities. "Okay. Sure. I'll do it." He's not sure what this seed of an idea will grow into, but it's definitely worth cultivating.  
  
*  
  
Over the next few weeks E-720 handles a wedding reception, another commercial for a local business, and a company picnic/awards ceremony, all while they're still focused on getting things _just right_ for the upcoming Callamezzo Sweet 16 bash. Tiffany really steps up their game, proving a natural for the business. Ben's glad, because it leaves him with more free time to work on his extra projects.  
  
He spends a few hours researching grants for Crystal, and agrees to an hourly fee with Chris and brings home all the relevant files and reports to work on in his spare time.  
  
One Tuesday morning he meets Crystal and Davey for coffee and donuts (or chocolate milk and donuts, in Davey's case) at a local donut shop. He's found five different grants she can apply for, and she's thrilled. Ben lets Davey play games on his iPad while he goes over the different applications with Crystal.  
  
"It looks like a lot of work," she says, "but if I get even one of these, it will make everything worth it."  
  
"Totally worth it. This is your first step toward a life-long career," replies Ben. "If you want me to look over the applications before you send them in, or help you tinker with the financial numbers to make you look better qualified, I'd be happy to help."  
  
Crystal's face lights up, and they set a time to meet at her apartment. Before they part company, Crystal asks an unexpected question. "So—you're kind of the money guy at Entertainment 720, right? Like, you handle all the financial stuff?''  
  
Ben nods. "Yeah. Why?"  
  
"Well, I have a friend who quit the club last year to open a nail salon, and things haven't been going that well for her business lately. She's a genius with nails and has tons of loyal customers, but she's just not that good with numbers. I was wondering if maybe you could take a few hours sometime to look over her finances and help her sort things out?"  
  
Ben raises his eyebrows. "Uh—"  
  
"I know you're super busy, but she really needs some help, and it would mean a lot to me. I'll come with you and make you both dinner so you can just sit down and go over the books. It won't take long, I promise."  
  
The seed that Chris planted suddenly sprouts a little higher. Local small businesses in need of temporary financial management help. . . hmm. "Okay. Sure. Give her a call and we can set something up."  
  
Crystal claps in delight and gives Ben a hug before wrenching the iPad away from a very reluctant Davey and heading out to her car.  
  
Ben stays at his table, opening a document on his iPad and typing in some notes—brainstorming that tiny sprouting idea into something much larger.  
  
*  
  
After just 11 cumulative hours of analysis, Ben finds a way to fund both new library programs by diverting funds from a now-canceled project in the public works department. That kind of transfer will take city council approval, but it will solve Chris's dilemma without depriving anyone of needed funds. Ben walks through the halls of City Hall with a bounce in his step and a smile on his face as he heads to Chris's office to deliver the good news.  
  
Naturally, he runs right into Leslie and Ann.  
  
He hasn't heard from Leslie in the just over two weeks since he sent his last email, and he's been trying to keep her out of his mind (easier said than done). But there's no avoiding her once they're standing face to face in front of one of City Hall's more offensive murals.  
  
"Hi," he says, forcing a smile.  
  
"Hi," says Leslie, not smiling. And since she's usually smiling, that's not a good sign. Neither is the way Ann is glaring at him.  
  
Time to break the ice. "So, uh, I've been seeing your new yards signs around town. They look really good—and there's lots of them. So good work with that."  
  
"Thank you, Ben," says Leslie softly, still not smiling. Crap.  
  
He searches his brain. "Um—and I caught that candidate on the street piece you did with Perd Hapley. You really knocked one out of the park with that. Anyone who doesn't vote for you after that is—well—not very smart." He trails off weakly.  
  
But Leslie's features finally seem to be softening. "That did turn out really well. And we had a lot more pledges of support and requests for yard signs after it aired."  
  
"Awesome. Really. That's great."  
  
Leslie shuffles her pad-folio from hand to hand. "Yeah. It is pretty great." Her eyes don't quite meet his. "I hear you've been doing some work for Chris?"  
  
"Yeah, uh, as an independent consultant. He just needed a little help sorting out a tricky budget issue. I think I've got it all sorted out for him, now." He nods.  
  
"Well, I shouldn't keep you from your meeting. I'm sure Chris will be excited to hear your solution." Leslie steps aside to let him pass, but Ann continues to glare at him from the center of the hall.  
  
"Um. Yeah. Well—great running into you. I guess I'll see you around?"  
  
"Yeah." Leslie nods. "Sure. See you around."  
  
Ben edges around Ann and makes his way to Chris's office. Well, that had been awkward, but not _too_ bad. Leslie did look a little depressed, though—never a good thing. Ben wonders if he can do anything about it? But it's not really his place, right now.  
  
Chris is ecstatic over Ben's proposed solution, and heaps him with excessive praise. Chris even goes so far as to suggest that Ben come back to the city full time, but Ben just shakes his head. "Sorry, man. I'm just in a different place right now, and I'm not ready to come back."  
  
Chris is disappointed, but lets it go quickly. The man is nothing if not adaptable.  
  
As Ben heads back out of Chris's office, he finds himself cornered by Ann. "We need to talk," she says ominously, and spins, leading him back to her office. He shuffles along, his head hanging. He feels a momentary temptation to run away, but in the long run that will only make things worse.  
  
He follows her into her office, and she perches on the edge of her desk, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at him. "Close the door."   
  
He obeys. It seems the wisest course of action at this point.  
  
Ann's glare intensifies right before she lets loose. "With all the election stuff and this year's Harvest Festival in just five weeks, not to mention the observatory project, Leslie is up to her eyeballs in stress right now. The last thing she needs right now is you screwing with her mind."  
  
Ben's eyebrows shoot up to hairline. "Excuse me?"  
  
"You heard me. I used to think you were a nice guy, but you've been a total dick lately." Ann's arms drop to her sides, where she starts clenching her fists. Ben begins to wonder if she might actually slug him.  
  
"What did I do?" he pleads, utterly confused.  
  
Ann's jaw drops and her fists come up a little higher. "What did you do? You can't be serious."  
  
Ben shrugs, and backs against the door. Those fists are looking a little too close for comfort.  
  
"How about, you spent the last two and half months sending her cute, flirty emails, tantalizing her with the possibility of getting back together. But you never called. You never stopped by to visit. And you stopped helping with the campaign. And then, out of the blue, you call her in the middle of the night to tell her how much you miss her, and brag about how you couldn't sleep with some other woman because you miss her so much—"  
  
Ben winces. "I told her that?"  
  
"Yes—jerk. And then when she works up the courage to ask you out the next day, you turn her down and tell her you still need _space_ to go _figure yourself out_. What the fuck does that even mean? Seriously. She's been miserable for weeks and now you show up and get all cute and flirty again? What the hell is your problem?" Ann shakes her fists in the air, and Ben cringes.  
  
"Shit," he says. When Ann lays it all out like that, he does sound like a total dick. "I—I'm sorry. You're right. I guess I _have_ been a jerk."  
  
"Yes! You have!"  
  
Ben rubs his face with his hands. Shit, shit, shit. "Okay. I guess when I did all that stuff, I never put myself in her shoes. And from her point of view, I can see how she—she misinterpreted my actions."  
  
"Misinterpreted?" Ann looks about ready to explode. "How the hell else _could_ you interpret them?"  
  
"Well—well I—I didn't intend them that way. Really. I seriously am trying to figure myself out. I mean, Leslie is like this small town superhero," he says, trying to explain his epiphany, "and when we were together I was nothing more than a sidekick. But I want to be better than that. I'm trying to be better than that. And I didn't want to see her again until I was ready to stand beside her as an equal partner—not just a sidekick." Please let Ann understand.  
  
Of course, she doesn't.  
  
"No, you didn't want to see her again because you're a fucking coward."  
  
Ben closes his eyes and grits his teeth, once more trying to put himself in Leslie's shoes. And, yeah, _fucking coward_ does seem like a pretty valid interpretation from that standpoint. Shit. "So—I guess, maybe, I should go apologize to her?"  
  
Ann scowls. "That's one option. But only if you grovel. Or you could just get the hell out of her life, and stay out. That's your other option."  
  
"I don't really like that option," he admits. Disappearing from her life completely right now will pretty much kill any chance of winning her back later. After—after what, really? All his deep personal insights suddenly don't feel so deep anymore.  
  
Ann folds her arms again. "Then get ready to grovel."  
  
After promising extreme amounts of groveling, Ben escapes Ann's office and heads right to the Parks Department. No point in putting this off. It's not like it'll get any better. Plus, it really sucks that Leslie's been hurting for two weeks because of him. (So, yeah, he was hurting for three _months_ because of her. But he's taking the high road. Or something.)  
  
Jerry and Donna greet him with guarded smiles, and April shoots him a nonchalant wave. He nods and waves back at them all, but heads right for Leslie's office. Even though the door is open, and she already saw him through the glass, he stops to knock anyway.  
  
She meets his gaze. "Come on in," she says, her eyes looking a little strained.  
  
He steps inside, and does a double take at the strange woman sitting in Tom's old desk. "Uh—hi. Have we met?"  
  
Leslie rolls her eyes. "This is Joanne. We hired her a few weeks before you quit, remember?"  
  
"Oh—yeah. Hi, Joanne."  
  
The dark-haired, slightly frumpy woman nods at him. "Hi."  
  
"Hey, Joanne, could you take those reports over to Chris's office? We kind of—need a minute." Leslie gives Joanne a pointed look.  
  
"Sure." Joanne grabs a stack of files and heads out. Ben gently closes the door behind her, and turns back to face Leslie.  
  
She sits, her hands folded on her desk, attempting to look serene, but not quite managing. Ben takes a deep breath. "So," he begins, "I talked to Ann, and she brought it my attention that I've been acting like a huge asshole lately. I'm—uh—here to apologize."  
  
The corners of Leslie's lips quirk up. "She actually called you an asshole?"  
  
"No—that was my word for it. She actually called me a dick, and a jerk who's been screwing with your mind. I just figured asshole encapsulated the whole concept."  
  
Now Leslie is actually smiling. "Yeah. I guess asshole is a pretty good word for it."  
  
Ben nods ruefully. "I really didn't mean to—you know—screw with your mind, or whatever. Apparently, I haven't been thinking too clearly lately, when it comes to you."  
  
Leslie nods slowly. "I gathered that from your call the other week."  
  
"Yeah." He runs his fingers through his hair. "God, I'm so sorry about that. I guess, between the Perd thing and that voicemail you left, I kind of flipped out. That's why I said I wasn't ready to see you again. I thought it was the mature thing to do, but, to quote Ann, it's actually because I'm a fucking coward."  
  
Leslie snorts a laugh. "She was really on a roll."  
  
"Yes. She was." Ben sits on the corner of Joanne's desk. "I guess I've been scared to see you again because, in case you haven't noticed, I have a serious impulse control problem when it comes to you. I always have. But that's not your fault, and I shouldn't blame you for it, or avoid you because of it. I need to get my own shit together, and just man up about this."  
  
Leslie's tight-lipped smile looks rather smug. "That sounds like a good idea. So what does this _manning up_ actually entail?"  
  
Ben takes another deep breath. This is the part he hasn't completely worked out yet. "Um—I—well—"  
  
"Um—you—well—are super mister lack of confidence all of a sudden."  
  
Ben lets loose a hollow laugh, and looks down at his feet.  
  
"How about coffee—once a week. Does that sound like a good place to start?"she says. He can see the worry behind her eyes, but she clings to that smile.  
  
He nods, a smile creeping onto his own face. "Sure. Coffee. Once a week. I think I can handle that."  
  
"And maybe after a few weeks of that you can work your way back up to campaign meetings, again."  
  
"That sounds like a logical progression. And after that—we'll see?" he shrugs.  
  
"And after that, we'll see."  
  
Ben smiles wider. "Okay. Cool. Great. Well, I guess I don't mind Ann yelling at me so much anymore. So—uh—when do you want to start this coffee thing?"  
  
"How about Tuesday, ten o'clock?"  
  
"Sounds good to me."  
  
He says goodbye and heads back out to the parking lot, his heart still pounding. So that just happened. He's talking to Leslie again. He's having _coffee dates_ with Leslie. And he's not sure what the hell any of it means, or where it's going. But he's doing it.  
  
Wow. He'd better get his act together, and fast.  
  
*  
  
Two nights later comes the much anticipated Sweet 16 party at casa Callamezzo.   
  
The place looks spectacular, the food is amazing, the DJ rocks, and Mouse Rat even puts in an appearance for a 1 hour set. (Young Lindsay Callamezzo is apparently a big fan, ever since the horse funeral. Ben negotiated the fee with April, and started at such a low-ball price that he managed to get her to agree to just $425, when he'd budgeted for $550. She was getting to be quite a shrewd band manager, so he considered it a personal triumph.) Things get weird for a few minutes when a slightly intoxicated Joan Callamezzo starts hitting on him, but Tom steps in to save the day. And things get even weirder when Ben catches Jean-Ralphio giving out his phone number to some of the girls in attendance, and has to remind him that they are all underage. The rest of the night, however, goes off without a hitch.  
  
All in all, it's a huge triumph for E-720. This is a reputation making night. Ben manages to give out business cards and sales pitches to seven of the adult guests, and Tom does the same with more than a dozen others.  
  
Yes—things are looking good for Pawnee's only entertainment and multi-media empire.  
  
It feels good to succeed at something, but Ben still thinks the work is a little superficial. He'd rather do something with more lasting value to society. That's why he's so eager for his appointment the next evening to meet with Crystal and her friend DeAnne to talk about DeAnne's nail salon.  
  
This will be the first true test of his "independent financial consultant" idea.  
  
Crystal makes lasagna for them all, and keeps Davey and DeAnne's little daughter occupied while Ben goes over the books with DeAnne. It doesn't take him long to spot inefficiencies and areas of waste that could be improved. By the end of the evening he's already worked out several ideas that will save her over three hundred dollars a month in operating costs, and they set a follow-up appointment to visit her shop and talk about more practical solutions to her cash-flow problems.  
  
DeAnne gives him a big hug before leaving. "I can't tell you how much this means to me," she says. "Really—this business is my life, and I don’t know what I'd do if I lost it. I feel like I should pay you or something."  
  
Ben shakes his head. "Not at all. It's my pleasure. But there is one thing you can do for me—"  
  
"What? Just name it."   
  
This is it—Ben's big idea. Time to spill the beans. "Well, I'm thinking of making this kind of financial consulting into a business of my own. You know—offering my services to other small business owners who can't afford a full-time finance specialist. If I do decide to start this business, could I use you as a referral source and a testimonial when I'm pitching my services to other prospective clients?"  
  
"You betcha, honey. I will talk you up like nobody's business."  
  
Ben grins. "Great. Thanks. That would be really awesome."  
  
DeAnne leaves happy, and Ben sticks around a little longer to help Crystal clean up. Actually, he ends up playing catch with Davey while Crystal does most of the cleaning. Eventually, Crystal settles Davey down in front of a cartoon before his bedtime, and pulls Ben aside. "You were so great with DeAnne. I know this is going to help her a ton. Thank you so much."  
  
Ben grins and shrugs. "Hey, I just wanted to try this out. You know, see if it's something I really want to try to make a living at. So really, you guys were doing _me_ a favor."  
  
"Well—if you do decide to start this business, I know you'll be amazing at it. You've got a gift for helping people." She rests her hand on Ben's arm. "I don't know how I'd have gotten through all these grant applications without you."  
  
Ben eyes her hand on his arm nervously, and shuffles his feet. "Well—don't thank me too much, yet. You still haven't gotten any money."  
  
"But I wouldn't even know there was money out there to get if it wasn't for you." She sighs and drops her hand. Ben takes a small step back in relief. The last thing he needs right now is another romantic entanglement.  
  
"You know," she says, "I have a cousin in Snerling who runs a diner, and her business really took a hit when the recession started. She's still just scraping by. I bet she'd be willing to pay for some expert advice on how to tighten the ship and get things running better. I could tell her about you, if you want."  
  
If he's getting positive word of mouth before he even starts the business, this idea might just be a winner. "Yeah. I'd like that. Thanks."  
  
Crystal shrugs. "It's the least I can do."  
  
*  
  
Ben stresses about his coffee date with Leslie for nearly twenty-four hours before meeting up with her, only to find that it's not nearly as awkward or uncomfortable as he expects. In fact, it only takes them a few minutes to fall back into easy conversation just like old times. He hardly notices the time passing as they joke about Tom, swap stories about April and Andy, and even exchange campaign anecdotes. He never thought he'd feel relaxed enough to share his old campaign stories with _anyone_. Yet, here he is.  
  
One fact is totally inescapable—he is _so_ not getting over her. Like, ever. And that's what he was so scared of in the first place. But the fact that _she_ doesn't seem to be getting over _him_ either makes the whole thing a little more bearable.  
  
He still wants to take his time with this—he doesn't completely trust her not to hurt him again. And he definitely doesn't trust himself not to get lost in Leslie's life before building a solid life of his own. But maybe there's a light at the end of this tunnel. If his new business idea pans out, maybe after the election, once she's not so stressed and busy anymore. . . .  
  
He almost laughs at himself, given that just a few months ago it was the suggestion of "getting back together after the election" that helped push him over the edge. And now, here he is seriously considering it.  
  
His cup is long dry when Leslie sighs and says she really ought to get back to work, now. Ben glances at the time and nearly chokes in surprise. "We've been here for almost two hours?"  
  
Leslie just shrugs it off. "I needed a break."  
  
They're about to stand up when a familiar voice calls, "Ben Wyatt! Long time no see."  
  
Ben looks up to see LaTonya and Layla striding over to them. "Hey," Ben says, flushing at the thought of what happened last time he hung out with the two of them. "Uh—this is my friend Leslie. Leslie, this is LaTonya and Layla."  
  
"Hi—great to meet you," says Leslie, in her best "running-for-mayor" voice.  
  
"Hi," says Layla. LaTonya ignores Leslie, keeping her full attention on Ben. He frowns a little.  
  
"Crystal told us how sweet you've been helping her with those grants," says LaTonya. "And then helping DeAnne. You're just our own little knight in shining armor, aren't you?"  
  
Ben shrugs sheepishly.   
  
"What grants?" Leslie asks, her eyes darting between Ben and the ladies.  
  
Layla steps forward and gives her a quick summary of Ben's efforts to help Crystal pay for dental hygiene school, and the help with the nail salon. Leslie's eyebrows shoot up, and she smacks him on the arm. "You didn’t tell me any of this!"  
  
Ben smiles at the look of pride in her eyes.  
  
"Oh—but there's some bad news about Missy," says LaTonya.  
  
Ben's eyebrows knit. "What bad news?"  
  
"The city denied her permits for the childcare business."  
  
"No way." Ben pounds his fist against his knee. "Seriously?"  
  
Layla nods sadly. "She just found out yesterday."  
  
"Bullshit," he says. This was her way out of dancing—her chance to build a better life for herself and for lots of other single moms, too. He's fuming. "This is—is—is total bullshit. I need to see those applications and find out why they got denied. Maybe we can still fix this."  
  
"What's all this?" asks Leslie.  
  
"Their friend Missy is trying to start a night-time childcare service for single moms who have to work night shifts." He turns back to LaTonya and Layla. "Do you think Missy would let me look over those applications to see what went wrong?"  
  
"Uh—yeah. She'll take any help she can get, right now," replies Layla.  
  
"Can I help?" chimes in Leslie. "I work for the city, and I have lots of contacts there. I might be able to pull in some favors."  
  
"Hey! I know you!" says Layla suddenly. "Aren't you running for mayor?"  
  
"I am, actually. But I really do want to help. I was talking to a group of nurses two weeks ago, and one of them told me that she'd like to take a night shift for the higher pay, so she could finally buy a house, but that there is only one night-time childcare provider in all of Pawnee, and they have a killer waiting list. This is a service our community needs, and I want to do what I can to help it happen."   
  
This is Leslie at her finest—her voice and face vibrant with genuine concern. This is the sort of thing that made Ben fall in love with her in the first place, and also the reason she completely deserves to win her election. He sits back and beams at her. He may have the righteous indignation thing down, but when it comes to positive, proactive caring, she's the master.  
  
"She's probably home right now—I'll call her," says Layla, pulling out her phone. Just a few minutes later she turns back to them. "She's home, and she's thrilled that you guys want to help. Do you want to go over right now?"  
  
"Yes. Absolutely," says Leslie, jumping to her feet.  
  
"Don't you have to get back to work?" asks Ben.  
  
"This _is_ my work. Come on—let's go!"  
  
*  
  
It takes Ben just fifteen minutes to find all seven minor errors in Missy's applications while Leslie chats with Missy and her sister about their long term goals.  
  
"These should be no trouble at all to fix," says Ben.  
  
"And I can make sure that your applications are put right at the front of the line this time," adds Leslie.  
  
"Thank you so much!" says Missy, bouncing her son Jonah on her knees. "You have no idea how much this means to us.  
  
Ben holds up his hands. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, here," he says. "The biggest issues are the structural upgrades that they've asked for. They say you need to install new flooring in the basement room you want to use, and to upgrade the plumbing in that basement bathroom—not to mention they say your windows and window-wells aren't up to code for a childcare facility, and need to be completely redone. That's several thousand dollars worth of work."  
  
"Shit," says Missy's sister, Darla. "We can't afford that. We already put all our savings into the beds and toys. What are we supposed to do?"  
  
"We could try to get donations from your friends, or interested community members," says Leslie.  
  
"And we could get volunteer labor to do the work," adds Ben. "I installed carpet one summer during college, so I know how to do that. And, uh, do you think we can get Ron to help?" He turns to Leslie.  
  
"If we promise grilled burgers and stakes with cold beer after, I'm sure we could talk him into it. And Ron could build a whole house if we needed him to. Plus, Joanne's boyfriend is pretty handy. We might be able to get him to help out."  
  
"April and Andy would be good helping with any demolition, and Andy might be able to do some of the other work if he had someone to supervise him," says Ben. "And there's a handyman that's done some work at E-720 events. If I promise him a higher hourly fee at our next few events, I can probably get him to volunteer labor to help out here."  
  
Leslie starts bouncing in her seat. "Yay! This is perfect. We can order all the supplies and get everyone together to do the whole project in one weekend, like Extreme Home Makeover!"  
  
"Can you guys really do all this?" asks Missy, her eyes darting back and forth between them.  
  
Ben exchanges a smile with Leslie, and turns back to Missy. "Yes. Absolutely. I guarantee it."  
  
*  
  
The next two weeks pass in a whirlwind. Ben helps Missy and Darla set up a plan to guarantee spots in the childcare for anyone who donates over $75 toward the renovation, and between the other dancers with kids and a few nurses they fill all ten spots in just two days, and collect nearly half the money needed.  
  
Leslie manages to sweet-talk several of her donors into big contributions, and somehow they manage to earn the rest with a bake sale. (Ben didn't know those things actually worked).  
  
In the meantime, Ben meets two more times with DeAnne about her nail salon, and by the time he's done he's cut her operating costs by nearly $500 a month—more than enough to ensure the long-term survival of her business. He also drives to Snerling to meet Crystal's diner-owning cousin, and signs his first honest-to-god client. He's more than a little amazed. This crazy business idea might just work. But only if he lands a few big clients. Fortunately, he has some ideas for that.  
  
He also has two more coffee dates with Leslie, and between those and their phone conversations about the renovation project, he actually feels like a legitimate part of her life again. Only this time he doesn't feel taken for granted, or used, or strung along like he did when he kept helping her campaign after they broke up. They just hang out and talk because they really enjoy hanging out and talking together—just like any other friends. (Except they used to sleep together. And probably still want to. But there's no pressure from her, and he certainly won't leap into anything right now. Not until his business takes off). This new phase of their relationship feels pretty damn good.  
  
Finally the big weekend renovation arrives. All the supplies have been purchased, the volunteers rounded up, and the promises of grilled beef for dinner made. It feels like a reunion of the old Parks Department crowd. Even Tom and Donna show up. (Tom thinks this finally might help him score with one of the girls from the Glitter Factory—he's convinced that Ben has to be sleeping with at least one of them, despite Ben's denials, and figures that if good deeds worked for Ben, they might work for him, too.)  
  
Ben hasn't had this much fun working with his hands in years. Everyone is happy and excited. Leslie is a little buzzed on coffee and NutriYums bars, but Ben manages to balance out her manic order-giving with his pre-prepared list of tasks, and Ron puts in his two cents whenever needed. April and Andy are just as good at demolition as Ben expected, and Tiffany proves to be a surprisingly adept plumber. Even Ann helps out (and actually doesn't seem to hate him anymore).  
  
The work progresses well, with all the removal and demolition done by eleven, and a good start on the new window installation before they break for lunch. Over lunch, Ben notices some strain in Leslie's eyes, but she acts as chipper as ever, so he doesn't bug her about it. But he does start keeping a closer eye on her.  
  
By late afternoon she looks downright exhausted, and can barely maintain her usual smile. When she heads upstairs to get a glass of water, he follows a moment later. He walks quietly, and with all the racket from the basement she doesn't hear him approach.  
  
She stands in the kitchen, her arms braced on the counter, her head hanging, looking as if she's about to slump over in exhaustion. He's seen her looking sad, tired, and frustrated—but he's never seen her look quite so. . . defeated.  
  
"Leslie?" he says softly.  
  
She jumps, and looks up at him, hastily wiping her cheek. Was that a tear?  
  
"Hi. Just taking a short break. It's getting hot down there," she says, with forced cheer in her voice.  
  
Ben stands just in front of her. "Leslie—what's wrong?"  
  
She shakes her head, and opens her mouth, as if about to make some excuse, but nothing comes out.  
  
He steps even closer. "You can tell me. Let me help you. I want to help you."  
  
Instead of answering, her shoulders start to shake, she sniffles loudly, and tears start pouring down her cheeks. And then she's leaning against his chest and his arms are wrapped around her, holding her close as she shudders with stifled sobs.  
  
Ben is slightly baffled, but does his best to comfort her, whispering assurances that everything will be all right without really knowing what _everything_ is.  
  
Once her sobs calm a little, he leads her to the couch and sits down with her. She snuggles against his side, still sniffling, and he keeps his arms wrapped around her. In all his fantasies about getting close to her again, this particular scenario never came up. But right now, none of his fantasies matter. All that matters is that something is wrong with Leslie, and he needs to help fix it.  
  
After a few more minutes, he ventures to speak. "Do you want to talk about it?"  
  
She sniffs again before answering. "I'm sorry for breaking down like this. I haven't been sleeping much lately, and I think it's catching up to me."  
  
Given the fact that on a good day Leslie only slept three or four hours, this must mean that she's barely been sleeping at all. "What's keeping you up? Is there anything I can do to help? Please—tell me."  
  
She leans back from him a little, wipes her cheeks, and looks up to meet his eyes. "I guess I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed. With the Harvest Festival coming up in three weeks, and the campaign revving into high gear, and keeping up with my regular duties, and then this," she waves her hand, indicating Missy's house, "All these things are so important, and they need to be perfect. I can't let them fail. But there are never enough hours in the day, and I'm starting to think that I've finally met my match. I can't keep up anymore." She rubs her face with her hands, and starts sniffling again. "God. I'm just so tired."  
  
Guilt surges through Ben. All through the past two weeks, as they've worked and planned on this project together, he never once thought about how many other balls she was already juggling. He really is a dick.  
  
"Go home," he says.  
  
She scrunches her forehead. "What?"  
  
"Go home. You don't have to do this. I agree—all this stuff is important, and we can't let it fail. But it's not just you, Leslie. All of us are here to help, and we're already ahead of schedule, and we'll find a way to help you with those other things, too. You're not alone in this. Trust us. We'll get the job done. Go home and get some sleep."  
  
"But everyone's counting on me—"  
  
"No, Leslie. You don't have to do everything. We all get it. Trust me—no one will hold it against you." He squeezes her shoulders. "I've got this one. You need to take care of yourself. Take a long bath. Eat some ice cream. Watch some History Channel or Animal Planet to unwind a little. Then get some sleep. A lot of sleep. Take some Benadryl, or something. That stuff always knocks you out, doesn't it?"  
  
She wipes her eyes again. "Yes, but—"  
  
"No buts. You can't keep going like this. If you don't take care of yourself, everything really _will_ fall apart. But today—this weekend—you have people here to take up the slack and get the work done for you. Let us help. And that's not a request. You are _not_ going back to work today." He rises to his feet. "Now—do you need me to drive you home? Or I could get Ann?"  
  
Leslie sits, looking slightly lost. "I could just take a little catnap here—"  
  
"I'm getting Ann." Without waiting for an answer he spins and heads back downstairs. Even Leslie Knope has her limits, whether she's willing to admit it or not. Ann will be able to knock some sense into her.  
  
Ann is spackling dings in the walls, and he pulls her aside. "Hey—Leslie's in really bad shape. I think she needs you."  
  
Ann's eyes go wide. "What's wrong? What did you do?"  
  
Ben cringes. "Okay. Fine. I deserved that. But for once, it's not me." He sighs. "It sounds like she hasn't really been sleeping, and she's exhausted and overwhelmed. She was actually _crying_ about how tired she is, but she won't go home."  
  
"She promised me she was getting sleep! She swore she was!"  
  
"Well," Ben shrugs, "it sounds like she fibbed a little."  
  
Ann's lips are tight and her eyes hard as she sets down her spackle and rubs her hands on her pants. "Okay. I'll make sure she gets home. And I will _force_ her to stop working."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Ann turns toward the stairs, and then hesitates for a moment, looking back at Ben. "Thanks for getting me. And thanks for looking out for Leslie. Maybe you're not such a dick, after all."  
  
Ben smiles and shakes his head. "You're welcome, I guess."  
  
A few minutes later, when he sneaks upstairs to check on them, Ann's car is gone, and so is Leslie.  
  
*  
  
By the end of Saturday, all the major installation work is done except the carpet. Tomorrow, all they'll need to do is the cosmetic stuff—painting, light fixtures, carpeting, and bringing all the furniture back in. They should be done by dinner time.  
  
Though he's tired, Ben lies awake for a long time, trying to think of ways to help Leslie. She can't carry all this weight on her shoulders.   
  
The next morning he's glad to see that Leslie isn't there. He hopes it means she's still sleeping.  
  
While a few other people are busy taping the walls to prep for painting, Ben finds a minute to talk to Ron. "Hey—I have an idea I'd like to run by you," he says.  
  
"What's on your mind?" replies Ron from where he kneels on the ground, stirring the paint.  
  
Ben crouches down beside him. "Well, I'm thinking of breaking away from Entertainment 720 to start my own business."  
  
"That sounds like a very sensible thing to do."  
  
"Yeah—so, um, maybe you know that I did a little consulting work for Chris last month."  
  
"I'd heard something." Ron pulls the stir-stick out of the paint, watching the drops roll down back into the can. He's still not meeting Ben's eyes, and Ben starts to feel nervous.  
  
"Anyway," Ben continues, "I want to start my own private financial consulting business. And I know Chris is still looking for a full-time replacement for me, but I was thinking of pitching him my services as a private contractor. Like he would pay me a quarterly retainer to use my expertise on any big projects or budget issues that come up, and maybe additional fees if the hours run long. I estimate that he'll still get all the services he's looking for in an Assistant City Manager, but without the costs of a salary and benefits. My contracted services will probably cost the city less than a quarter of what they used to pay me. And yes, they won't have me full time, but they'll have me when they need me. So—uh—what do you think?"  
  
A slow grin has been spreading on Ron's face as Ben talks, and he turns to meet his eyes. "Outsourcing government bureaucracy to a private contractor? That's the best damn idea I've heard in months." He puts down the stir-stick and pats Ben on the shoulder.  
  
Awesome. Ben was hoping to find an ally in Ron. "So, if I pitch this idea to Chris, can you put in a good word for me? And maybe stand up in support of the idea when it goes to City Council?"  
  
"I would be honored to support you in this righteous endeavor," says Ron solemnly. "I wish there were ten more of you out there, so we could outsource half the damn government."  
  
So, step one in Ben's plan is complete. Now he just needs to talk to Chris.  
  
A little while later, Crystal shows up with Davey in tow. She immediately rushes up to Ben and gives him a hug. "This place looks amazing! I'm sorry I couldn’t be here yesterday—I had to work."  
  
"Well, you're here now." Ben smiles at her.  
  
"I can't believe you did all this!"  
  
He shrugs. "It's not just me—clearly."  
  
"Yeah—but most of these people are here because of you. And that friend of yours—Leslie. Is she here?"  
  
Ben puts his hands in his jeans pockets and rocks on his heels. "No. She has a lot on her plate right now, but I won't be surprised if she turns up later."  
  
"You know," Crystal cocks her head to one side, "when I first heard that she was running for mayor, I was sure that she was just using this as some big photo op, or something. But Missy says there hasn't been any sign of reporters or anything."  
  
The thought had never even occurred to Ben. "That's because Leslie doesn't do things like this because she wants good press. She does them because they're the right thing to do."  
  
"Just like you," says Crystal, nudging him on the arm. "No wonder you're friends—you sound like two of a kind."  
  
Ben feels like glowing. If only Crystal knew just how huge a compliment she'd just given him. Someone actually thinks he's like Leslie. It's the best thing ever.  
  
Somehow Ben and Andy end up babysitting Davey along with Missy and Darla's kids most of the day while the others finish up the painting and trim. Playing with kids turns out to be just as tiring as doing home improvements all day, and when they break for a mid-afternoon cookout Ben gladly sinks into a bench in Missy's back yard. Davey promptly crawls onto his lap and demands to play more games on his phone.  
  
Crystal sits down beside them. "Don't let him take get away with too much, or he'll take advantage of you forever," she says.  
  
"It's okay. I don't mind."  
  
"You'd mind if you had to put up with it every single day."  
  
Ben just laughs and shakes his head.  
  
That's when Leslie and Ann show up with big trays of home-baked cookies to contribute to the cookout. Leslie looks much better than yesterday, but Ben decides he needs to check with Ann anyway, just to make sure she actually slept well.  
  
After Leslie sets her tray of cookies down her eyes find Ben, and linger there for a moment, looking suddenly uncomfortable. He hopes she doesn't feel embarrassed about her breakdown yesterday—she has nothing to be ashamed of.  
  
With one arm still cradling Davey, he lifts his other hand and waves, shooting her a smile. She smiles back, but still looks a little wary.  
  
"Is that Leslie?" asks Crystal. "I have got to meet her." She hops to her feet and crosses the yard to say hello. Leslie's face instantly warms up. But Ben still worries. Yeah—he definitely needs to check in with Ann.


	4. In Which Ben Turns Plans into Actions

Ben manages to get an appointment with Chris Monday afternoon. He lays out his complete proposal, along with graphs, tables, and checklists to support his idea. This is a big deal—a client as substantial as Pawnee City virtually guarantees the success of his new business. He feels like maybe he's rushing into this a little, but if he doesn't rush, he won't be able to carry out his plans to help Leslie.  
  
Fortunately, Chris is wildly enthusiastic. "This a fabulous idea!" he declares. "Literally one of the best proposals I've ever heard. And we'd get to work together, again! It's fantastic. As far as I'm concerned, the answer is a resounding yes."  
  
"But you still have to get---"  
  
"City Council approval," Chris says along with Ben. "Yes. You'll have to work up a presentation for them—they aren't as familiar with your impeccable qualifications as I am."  
  
This is the part that scares Ben—he really wants to land this client, and he knows how much prep work it will take, but, unfortunately, he's in a huge hurry. Well, he's been taking leaps of faith for months now, and most of them have been working out. Time for one more. "Actually, I was hoping to get this on the agenda for the regular Wednesday council meeting," he says.  
  
Chris's eyebrows shoot up. "Really? You don't think that's a little premature?"  
  
"Not at all," replies Ben, steeling his spine. "You've been without an Assistant City Manager for nearly four months, now, and with big projects like the Harvest Festival and your computer hardware upgrade going on right now, you could really use the help. I'd like to be in the position to come on board by the beginning of next week."  
  
Still looking slightly shell-shock, Chris says, "If you feel confident that you can be ready—"  
  
"I do."  
  
"Then I'll add you to the agenda," says Chris with a nod.  
  
"And I think Ron will put in an appearance to speak in support of my proposal, too," adds Ben.  
  
Chris's face lights up. "Ron Swanson? Delightful. I'm sure he'll have plenty of good things to say about you—you've been such an ally to his department."  
  
Ben nods. Yeah. An ally to Ron. Leave it to Chris Traeger to still believe that.  
  
That evening Ben calls Leslie, and she seems pleasantly surprised to be hearing from him. "So, I just wanted to see if we could reschedule our coffee this week," he says. "I've a got a big project that's bogging me down, and it needs to be resolved by Wednesday afternoon. Maybe we could get together Thursday or Friday instead?"  
  
"Oh." She sounds disappointed. "Well, my Thursday and Friday are pretty booked. Actually, every day is pretty booked with the Harvest Festival coming up so fast. Are you sure Tuesday won't work?"  
  
God, she sounds like she really wants to see him. His heart speeds up a little. He wants to see her, too. But he needs to resolve this business with City Council, first. She's dazzled and surprised him dozens of times—it's his turn to dazzle and surprise her. "I'm really sorry, it won't. Are you doing any better? Ann told me you've actually been sleeping, but I still worry about you."  
  
He can hear the grin in Leslie's voice when she replies. "Yes. I'm doing better. Ann is practically glued to my side, thanks to you. She insists on feeding me healthy meals and making sure I sleep every night. I hate to admit it, but I think it really is helping me feel better. Except for the part where I'm suddenly a grown woman with a babysitter—thanks for that."  
  
"You're welcome," Ben smiles, sending Ann a mental "thank-you."  
  
They finally agree to play the next few weeks by ear, and to find the time to talk whenever they can squeeze it in.  
  
With that out of the way, Ben makes another call—a much harder call.  
  
"Hey Tom. Can I come over? There's something I really need to talk to you about."  
  
*  
  
Tom looks at him with sad-puppy eyes and whimpers, "You're abandoning us?"  
  
Crap. Ben rubs his forehead. This is just what he was afraid of. "No." He meets Tom's eyes again. "I'm _not_ abandoning you. I'm just cutting back my hours and experimenting with another venture."  
  
Now Tom gets a little belligerent. "And when this new _venture_ of yours gets super-successful, then you'll abandon us. Great."  
  
"No!" insists Ben. "I'm on your team, no matter what. Look—if I land Pawnee City as a client, I'll only have to scale back my involvement with E-720 to about two thirds of what I'm doing now, but I'll also scale back my pay to two thirds of what I'm taking home now. I'll still be there when you need me, and I'll be training Tiffany to take over most of my duties so it won't impact you too much when I scale back even more."  
  
Tom leans back, folding his arms. "Like I said. Abandoning us."  
  
Ben sighs. "Tom—you know I'm your friend, right? You know I like hanging out with you, and working with you. But E-720 is _your_ dream. Not mine. And even if this new business of mine takes of ground, I still want to work with you—but it'll be as a part-time consultant instead of a full-time CFO. I'm sorry if this upsets you, but I've got to try. Just like you had to try to follow _your_ dream."  
  
Tom nods glumly. "Yeah. I guess. I know you're not as into the work here as I am, and I kind of figured you'd leave eventually. I just didn't expect it to happen so soon."  
  
"Neither did I. But when an opportunity like this comes along, you just have to go for it. Right?"  
  
"Or you might not ever get another chance." A hint of a smile returns to Tom's face. "I think I know a thing or two about that." He shakes his head. "Fine. Okay. I get it. And Tiffany is just as smart as you, anyway. We'll manage."  
  
"I know you will." Ben rests his elbows on his knees, and leans forward. "And I'll still be around to help when you need it."  
  
Tom nods. "Thanks, man. And I guess you cutting back to part-time will save us a crap load of money."  
  
"That's the spirit."  
  
"Now," says Tom, a serious expression on his face, "let's get down to business. What're you calling this new venture of yours?"  
  
"Umm. . . " Ben honestly hasn't thought about it, and says the first thing that pops into his head. "Wyatt Financial Consulting?"  
  
"That name sucks, dude. You need some help. Let me think." Tom closes his eyes for a moment, and then snaps his fingers. "Got it. You'll be _Mobile-CFO_ , the greater Pawnee area's only roving CFO for hire. It's perfect."  
  
Ben grins and nods. Now this is the Tom he likes best. "It is pretty perfect."  
  
"Of course it is. Now, we need to get Jean-Ralphio over here to help us with logos. He's genius with logos. And you're gonna need business cards, and letterhead—and did you say you're putting together a presentation? Time for a Power Point party—" Tom keeps rattling out ideas as Ben leans back and smiles. Damn, it feels good to have friends.  
  
*  
  
Thanks to help from Tom and Jean-Ralphio, by the Wednesday afternoon city council meeting Ben is more than prepared with a Power Point presentation, glossy brochures, business cards, and Ron and Chris both lined up to speak in favor of him.  
  
He's met all the council members before, and worked closely with them on several occasions, so he's not too nervous. All he has to do is keep his cool, and everything should go well.  
  
But keeping his cool suddenly seems a lot harder when Leslie follows Ron into the council meeting. It doesn't take her long to see him, and she walks up to him with a confused smile on her face. "Hi. What are doing here?"  
  
"I—uh—well—Ron didn't tell you?"  
  
"No. I thought it was weird he was coming, but he wouldn't tell me why." Her eyebrows knit. "What's going on?"  
  
His heart starts pounding. He's not quite sure if Leslie will approve of his plan, and he really hadn't thought he'd have to sell it to her at the same time he was selling it to the council. "Well—I'm, uh, here to pitch my services as a private budget consultant to the city. You know, get them to outsource some of the City Management and Budget Office duties to me as a private contractor." Why does it suddenly sound so lame, when it sounded fabulous during all his practice runs with Tom?  
  
The lines in Leslie's forehead deepen. "A private contractor? Can we even _do_ that?"  
  
"Sure," Ben shrugs. "The city already contracts with an outside firm for waste collection, and another for recycling, and another for water and sewage, and a few more for other things. This is no different in principle, it's just on the administrative side of things rather than the labor and services side." There. His prep-work is finally kicking in.  
  
"Huh," says Leslie, thoughtfully. "I guess that makes sense. And what about Tom and E-720? Do you really have time for this?"  
  
Does she not want him around city hall more? He starts feeling nervous again. Maybe it's just Leslie being overly cautious—again. "If I get this contract I'm scaling back to part-time at E-720. And then I'll try to get more of my own clients. I just—I want to make this finance and budget consulting thing into a business of my own. This is my first big step."  
  
"Wow—look at you, picking up the entrepreneur bug from Tom. I never would have guessed it."  
  
He thinks he must be reading way too much into this, because now she looks happy for him. Maybe. Or is she just faking it? Damn. He really needs to stop thinking about this and focus on the presentation.  
  
"Yeah. Well. Just thought I was ready to try something new."  
  
She smiles, but he feels like there's a distance there. Is she peeved that he canceled their coffee date to prep for something she's not sold on? Ugh.  
  
"Anyway," she says, "I can't wait to see your presentation. I'm sure it will be very informative."  
  
_Informative_? What the fuck does _that_ mean? "I hope so. Uh—if you don't mind my asking, why are _you_ here?"  
  
"Oh, I try to make it to all the City Council meetings. You know, to stay on top of new developments in city business, so I can discuss them with people interested in my campaign. You can never be too prepared."  
  
Of course. He should have guessed.  
  
They sit down—Leslie in the front row, with a notepad ready to scribble down all the important details. Ben in the middle of the room, next to Ron, who gives him a last-minute pep talk (which is actually pretty helpful). Ben is grateful that there are several business items on the agenda before they get to his presentation. It gives him more time to calm down and refocus.  
  
Finally the council turns the floor over to him. His presentation flies by in a blur, but, thanks to the great Power Point presentation that Tom and Jean-Ralphio helped him make, he doesn't miss a beat, from outlining his qualifications to detailing his services and the significant savings the city will experience by outsourcing rather than hiring full-time help. He avoids looking at Leslie the whole time, but hears her pen scratching away on her notepad.  
  
The presentation goes so well that he feels downright comfortable as he enters the question and answer phase. It really helps that he knows all the council members personally, and can reply just as if they were still his work colleagues rather than some high council sitting in judgment over him. They all seem pretty impressed.  
  
Then Ron gets up to speak. His remarks only last two or three minutes, but he speaks of his small government ideals and the benefits of privatization and outsourcing with greater passion than Ben has heard him speak on any other subject (except bacon, beef, and his ex-wives). Ron concludes his remarks with a firm endorsement of Ben's proposal.  
  
Chris takes his turn, endorsing the plan with typical-Chris enthusiasm and optimism. Then he turns it back over to the council.  
  
The chairman addresses the small audience, "Would anyone else like to comment on this proposal before we put it to a vote?"  
  
Ben's stomach lurches as he sees Leslie raise her hand. Shit. She looks really serious. She's not about to oppose him, is she? And after he rushed into this just to help her—  
  
"Yes, Chairman Rogers. I'd like to make a comment."  
  
"Of course, Ms. Knope. What are your thoughts?" replies the chairman.  
  
"I would just like to say that at the beginning of Mr. Wyatt's presentation, I wasn't convinced that outsourcing administrative duties would be in the best interests of our city. But he and his supporters here made extraordinarily convincing arguments. Someone who can tighten our budget and save us money without sacrificing the services that our citizens count on will always be an asset to our government, particularly if we can get him for a bargain price. I'm sold. I think hiring Mr. Wyatt as a private contractor is a fantastic idea."  
  
She doesn't once look at him as she speaks, but he can feel the warmth and sincerity in her words. She's not just saying this to make him feel good—she actually _means_ it. His heart leaps in his chest. God, he loves her. How could he _not_ still love her? He might not want to wait until after the election, after all.  
  
His head is so full with thoughts of Leslie that he barely notices the council taking a vote. His jaw drops in surprise when the chairman announces approval of his proposal by a vote of seven to one.  
  
Ron pats him on the back in congratulations, and Chris sends him a huge double thumbs-up from across the room, but all that Ben really sees is Leslie peeking over her shoulder at him, a warm smile lighting up her face.  
  
*  
  
The council meeting doesn't end until after a few more items of business. When they finally wrap up, Ben stands, intending to make his way up to Leslie, but Chris gets to him first.  
  
"Congratulations, friend! Your presentation was literally one of the best I've ever seen. I can't wait to get you back on the team!" He slapped Ben on the back.  
  
"Yeah. Thanks."  
  
"We can have the contracts drawn up and ready to sign by Friday. Then you can get to work on Monday, just like you wanted. We'll have a meeting to figure out where you can help first." Chris grins at him.  
  
"Actually, I already have a suggestion for that," says Ben. Time to press forward with his plan to help Leslie. "With Leslie so busy with the observatory project and her campaign, I've heard that the Parks Department is feeling a little overloaded with the Harvest Festival this year. Don't you agree, Ron?"  
  
Ron gives him a shrewd look. Ben has no doubt that Ron knows exactly what's going on. "Things are getting a little hectic," says Ron.  
  
"Who's managing the festival budget this year?" asks Ben. He handled the budget last year, and he doubts Chris has stepped up to take it on this year.  
  
"Joanne," grumbles Ron. "But I know for a fact that Leslie spends at least an hour every evening re-doing Joanne's work after she leaves for the day. Joanne has her functions, but managing numbers isn't one of them."  
  
Ben turns to Chris, holding his hands out and cocking his head. "There you have it."  
  
"Perfect suggestion, Ben. There's no one better to take over that job than you. If Ron agrees, the Harvest Festival budget will be your first official project as our new budget contractor."  
  
"What's this?" says Leslie, joining them.  
  
"Ben is going to take over the Harvest Festival budget from Joanne," says Ron, edging toward the door. "If you don't mind, I'm off for the day. Damn City Council doesn't even provide refreshments." And with a nod, he exits.  
  
"I'm sure you don't mind working with Ben on this project," says Chris. "After all, you two did a stupendous job working together last year. The dynamic duo is back together!" he raises his fists in a small gesture of triumph.  
  
Ben just grins at Leslie, and she grins back. "I can't wait," she says.  
  
*  
  
Ben wants nothing more than to take Leslie out to dinner to celebrate his success. Unfortunately, Leslie being Leslie, she already has dinner plans with several political supporters and a meeting with campaign staff afterward. But he does manage to set a meeting for Saturday morning to discuss the Harvest Festival budget.  
  
He ends up going out to dinner with Tom and Chris, instead. The two get along surprisingly well, now that there are no more boss/underling tensions between them. They both toast Ben's success, and then fall into a lengthy conversation on the merits of traditional gourmet food versus the healthier, largely vegetarian variety that Chris prefers.  
  
Since Ben has virtually nothing to add to the discussion, he lets his mind wander back to Leslie. When he took the job with E-720 three months earlier, he'd honestly believed that it might be the first step toward finally getting over her. Yet now it feels like leaving his job in City Hall had just been the first of many steps toward reconciling with her—but this time, on his own terms, instead of hers.  
  
That had been his biggest mistake during their brief relationship—he may have initiated it, but after those first dizzy, delirious days he somehow slipped into a subordinate position, letting her lead. Letting her dictate all the terms of their romance. He'd been so afraid of scaring her off, or losing her, or taking advantage of his position of authority over her, that—with the exception of the incident with Leslie's mother—he'd never asserted himself. Never took charge of the direction or nature of their relationship. He'd meekly followed wherever she led.  
  
They'd never been true partners. But now . . .  
  
Now that there is no need for secrecy, and no ethical quandaries caused by their workplace relationship, they can finally build the kind of partnership that he craves. And she seems to want it, too. The way she let him take the lead in the renovation of Missy's childcare facility—the way she'd supported his new business proposal—these are signs. They have to be.  
  
But what if they aren't? All his old fears and doubts are still there. What if she's just acting "mayoral"? Learning to build consensus? Trying to analyze things from the standpoint of practical, common sense leadership? What if none of it is really about him—or _them_ —at all?  
  
He realizes that he's been staring at the food on his fork for over a minute, and shoves it into his mouth. He needs to calm down—to refocus on his goals, and take things slow with Leslie. Let her make the first move. Let her show him that she's ready. That's what he'll do. That's what makes sense.  
  
*  
  
Ben should have known that something was up when Tom approached him on Thursday, asking about his involvement in the Harvest Festival. Ben had told him that, as far as he knew, he was only taking over the budget. The sparkle in Tom's eyes should have set off alarms in Ben's head when Tom asked when Ben was meeting with Leslie—Saturday at 9. "At J.J.s, right?" asked Tom. Ben had nodded. "You two are so predictable." Ben had shrugged off the conversation and returned to his work. He hadn't suspected a thing.  
  
Now he's paying the price.  
  
He and Leslie both step out of their cars at the exact same moment in J.J.s parking lot, and laugh about it. They've just ordered, and Ben has only just started filling her in on his plans for the future growth of Mobile-CFO, when Tom and Tiffany stroll into the diner.  
  
Tom feigns surprise at seeing them, but given the fact that Tiffany is carrying her laptop case and both of them are dressed in business clothes, Ben knows that this is no coincidence.  
  
"Can we join you?" says Tom, wagging his eyebrows.  
  
"Sure—why not," says Leslie, before Ben has a chance to object.  
  
Tiffany slides into the booth next to Leslie and pulls out her laptop, booting it up as Tom launches into an obviously planned sales-pitch. "I remember how much trouble all the vendors at the carnival gave you last year," says Tom. "Nagging, and complaining, and hassle after hassle. How would you like to turn the task of vendor management over to some highly qualified helpers, so that you can focus on the big picture instead of those little nagging details?"  
  
Finally Leslie looks wary. "I don't know. It depends on who those highly qualified people are. And what their true intentions are."  
  
"Exactly—" says Tom, completely ignoring Leslie's words. "It would be awesome!"  
  
"Tom, what's going on?" asks Ben.  
  
"I'm here today to propose a good old-fashioned barter," replies Tom. "Tiffany, Ben, and I will take over the vendor management duties of Harvest Fest for you in, and in exchange, you'll let E-720 set up the Ultimate Party Tent!"  
  
"Ooooh, boy," says Ben. "What's the ultimate party tent?" He really should have paid more attention to what Tom was up to. Damn it.  
  
"By day, we run free casino-style games and film mock-episodes of several promising new game show concepts with volunteers from the crowd. By night, we turn into the Harvest Festival's only dance party, featuring a multi-media display of awesome music videos created by Jean-Ralphio and myself. Including the exclusive first music video of popular local band, Mouse Rat, produced by Entertainment 720. It'll be a slamming, smoking hot venue where grown-ups can escape from the kiddies for an hour to have some of their own good times. And, it'll be completely free—done just for the publicity."  
  
"Exactly how much space will this party tent of yours take up?" asks Leslie. "Those vendors pay us $500 for the week to lease a space."  
  
"We'll only take up the space of three vendor booths," says Tiffany, pulling up an image of the proposed "party tent" on her computer and angling it toward Leslie. "And for noise control purposes, we'll gladly take an out-of way corner location at the edge of the carnival grounds. We won't do anything to disrupt the business of the other vendors."  
  
"I don't know." Leslie looks doubtful. "That's $1,500 that would have gone back to the city, and you're asking me to give it away—"  
  
"Not _give_ it away," says Tom. " _Barter_ it away. You and your staff are busy people. Why not lighten the load, and let them focus on making the other aspects of Harvest as good as they can be, while we deal with the nitty gritty details of vendor management. How much is it worth to you to take that burden off of your shoulders?"  
  
Ben rubs his face in his hands. So much for his pleasant breakfast with Leslie. "Hey guys—I think our food is coming. How about we just eat, and give Leslie some time to think this over?" He catches Leslie's eye and silently mouths: _I'm sorry_.  
  
She sends him a tight-lipped smile, and a small shrug.  
  
Their food soon arrives, and Tiffany puts the computer away, but despite Ben's best efforts, Tom keeps steering the conversation back around to his "barter" idea.  
  
Leslie finishes her plate of waffles, and sighs. "You know what—I think I might just take you up on your offer, Tom."  
  
"Really?" Tom's eyes get big, and his smile bigger.  
  
"Yeah. Vendor management really is a nightmare. I've tried delegating it to Ron and Donna, but those two keep pissing off all the potential vendors and in the end it always comes back around to me. I could really use the help, and if we watch our expenses in other areas we should be able to compensate for the lost $1500 in vendor fees." She points to Ben. "That part's up to you, now."  
  
"Of course. Absolutely. Are you really sure about this?"  
  
"Dude! You're supposed to be on my side!" Tom says.  
  
"Tom," says Leslie, "I'm serious. Let's do this. It's a good idea, and I could really use the help. Thank you."  
  
"You're welcome," says Tom, folding his arms and looking smugly at Ben.  
  
"We'll have to work up a budget to hire some extra help to run the party tent," says Tiffany. "We could probably get some of my old friends from the Glitter Factory."  
  
"Perfect!" Tom sits up straight. "This is why we love you, Tiff-Tiff. Who do you think we could get?"  
  
"I'm sure Missy would like to help—she's still trying to build up savings after what she spent to start up the childcare. And Crystal's always looking for ways to earn some extra money. I’m sure I could talk a couple of the others into it, too."  
  
Tom launches into action mode. "Sweet. Tiff-Tiff—you make up a schedule. Ben—you call your girl Crystal and see if she's interested, and Missy too. Got it?"  
  
"Yeah, no problem, but, uh, that's not really what this meeting was supposed to be about. In fact, none of this is what this meeting was supposed to be about." Ben glares at Tom.  
  
Tom holds up his hands. "Hey, don't get your feathers ruffled, dude. This'll be good for your new biz, too. You'll get a chance to mix and mingle with small-business owners from all over Pawnee. Anyway, I think my work here is done. Tiff-Tiff, lets blow this joint." He stands up and slaps a few twenties down to cover the meal. "It's been a pleasure, as always, Leslie. I'll drop by Monday to get things rolling."  
  
"Bye Tom, Tiffany," says Leslie brightly as the two exit the diner.  
  
Ben feels considerably less cheery than Leslie sounds. "Hey—I'm sorry they intruded like that," he says. "I swear I had no idea Tom was planning this."  
  
"Don't worry about it. I really could use the extra help. You guys are stepping in just in time—I was about to lose my mind, with the election just a month after the Harvest Festival. It's a little crazy."  
  
This makes Ben feel only slightly better. "Okay. As long as it's really helping. You're not agreeing to this just because we're your friends, right?"  
  
She shrugs. "Partly. But mostly because I really could use the extra help. And I am _so_ glad you're taking the budget off of Joanne's hands. She really wasn't managing it very well."  
  
"You're welcome." He smiles and sips what's left of his now-cold coffee.  
  
"Now," she says, "you never finished telling me your plans for Mobile-CFO. Great name, by the way. And your business cards are fantastic."  
  
His face warms up a little under her sunny gaze. "I had a little help from the boys, with those. But, uh, yeah. I think what I was trying to tell you is that after I prove myself for a few months with Pawnee, I plan on pitching my services to Eagleton and Snerling, and probably all the other towns within a ninety minute drive of here. If I can get just two or three more governments to sign up, that should be enough to pay all my bills and keep the business solvent so I can keep my rates low for the one-time budget and business plan reviews that I'll be offering to local small businesses. I don't just want to turn into their accountant—I really want to do the same sort of thing that I did as an auditor. To come into a struggling business, analyze their budgets and systems, and help them turn themselves around to stay afloat."  
  
Leslie smiles sunshine at him again, and he basks in the glow. "That sounds really perfect for you. I think it's great. Better than great. How'd you come up the idea?"  
  
He knows he's smiling like a fool, but he can't really help himself. "Well, after a couple of months with E-720 I started to realize what it is I really like to do with my time—and that's solve problems, and help people. I had plenty of the problem solving with E-720, but not much of the helping people."  
  
"Unless you count choosing the right lighting scheme or ice sculpture as helping people," says Leslie, mirth in her eyes.  
  
"Yeah. Not so much. I used to think that the best way to help people was by working in government, but after getting the chance to help Missy, and DeAnne, and Crystal and her cousin, I started to see that helping on a smaller scale, in the private sector, might not affect as many people overall, but it can help the people it _does_ affect in a deeper, more profound way. And I really like it. And I want to keep doing it. So I'm hoping that my experience as an auditor will attract enough government clients to keep the business going so I can spend the rest of my time really helping the small business community of the greater Pawnee area. I don't care if I have a huge income—I just want to make a reasonable living doing something that really matters. Something that makes a difference in people's lives. So—that's what I'm hoping to build over the next year or so." If he'd explained things this way to Tom, he knows that Tom never would have understood. Tom just doesn't think this way. But Leslie gets it. She knows. After all, this is the woman who was willing to risk her career to put on a children's concert for her community. And who was willing to sacrifice some of her personal happiness for a better chance at serving her community in an elected office.  
  
Yeah. She definitely gets it.  
  
Leslie continues to glow at him. "I think this is wonderful. I never would have pictured you as an entrepreneur, but this idea makes so much sense for you. You're going to be amazing at it—I just know you are. I'm really happy that you found the path you want to follow."  
  
"Thanks." God, he wants to kiss her right now. He has to forcefully remind himself that he's waiting for _her_ to make the first move this time. He's not going to get swept up in his emotions again and fling himself at her feet—no matter how much he wants to.  
  
"And, I really am glad that you and Tom are going to be helping out on the Harvest Festival," she says. "Even with Ann babysitting me, there are still moments when I feel like the stress is going to drive me completely bananas."  
  
"We're happy to take some of the load off your shoulders."  
  
She finally turns over a USB jump drive holding all the budget files for Harvest Fest and fills him in on the work she needs done. He's happy to get started right away.  
  
When they finally leave J.J.'s, before getting in their cars, she gives him a hug. Nothing lingering—just a brief, warm embrace, not too different from the first hug she ever gave him almost a year ago now, at the first Harvest Festival.  
  
Ben tells himself that he's not going to over-analyze the gesture (Was it more of a friend-hug than a romantic hug? Or was she holding back because she was worried about showing more? Or . . .) but naturally he ends up thinking about it for most of the day.  
  
*  
  
The final weeks leading up to the Harvest Festival are crazy busy. Between taking charge of the festival budget and most of the vendor management duties (Tiffany helps out a lot, but Tom is largely absent. Not really a surprise) and making sure Tom and Jean-Ralphio don't spend too much money on the Ultimate Party Tent or the Mouse Rat music video that they're filming, Ben barely has any downtime at all. He's starting to know how Leslie felt when she broke down from exhaustion.  
  
Most of his interactions with Leslie are about business—they're both too busy for much socializing. But it feels good to be working by her side again. They always did make a good team, and this time he doesn't feel any pangs of guilt whatsoever when his imagination leads him to less-than-professional thoughts about her. He keeps reminding himself to wait. Things with Leslie will come _after_. After the Harvest Festival. After the election. After she decides to make a move. After, after, after. . . .  
  
Crystal, Missy, Layla, and several other girls from the Glitter Factory jump at the chance to earn a little extra side money doing something fun. Much to Jean-Ralphio's dismay, Ben insists that the ladies wear E-720 t-shirts and jeans as their "official uniforms."  
  
"Remember," chides Ben, "this is a family carnival. We have to keep things as PG-rated as possible."  
  
A few days before the Festival, everything seems to be falling into place. All the vendor slots are full, all the supplies and equipment for the Ultimate Party Tent are ready to set up (including the new Mouse Rat DVDs, featuring the new music video and a touched-up video of the one hour performance they did at the Callamezzo sweet 16 party. E-720 is splitting the profits with Mouse Rat 50/50.) and the Carnival is starting to go up. Everything is on track for both the festival, and the party tent, to be big successes.  
  
Friday evening, three days before the Festival opens, Ben is home catching a quick microwave dinner before hitting the computer to work out some last minute budget-wrangling when he hears a knock at the door. He's surprised to find Crystal there, and invites her in, feeling grateful that the Dwyers aren't home. He doesn't want to deal with their intrusive curiosity right now.  
  
"I'm glad I caught you at home," says Crystal. "I can only stay a few minutes—I'm on the way to work. But I had to come tell you the good news. I heard back from three of the grants, and two of them said yes!" She looks ready to jump up and down.  
  
"That's awesome!" says Ben, delighted for her.  
  
She practically leaps at him, squeezing him in a tight hug. "Thank you so much. I never could have done it without you."  
  
He gives her a quick squeeze back, and then steps away a little. "It was no big deal."  
  
"It's a big deal to me." She wags a finger at him. "Money will still be tight, but it'll be just enough to manage. And it'll be even better if either of the last two grants come through. I'm too late to start this fall semester, but I've already talked to an advisor at the school, and I'm onboard to start class in January. It's perfect."  
  
"I'm really, really happy for you and Davey. This is great news."  
  
"Yeah." She grins up at him. "I was hoping, maybe, sometime soon, I could take you out to dinner to thank you. You know—just the two of us?"  
  
Crap. Ben's not so oblivious that he doesn't recognize that look in Crystal's eyes. He knows when a woman is asking him out on a date. This really sucks.  
  
"Look—Crystal." He takes a deep breath. "You are a really amazing person, and a great mom, and a great friend. And I'm really happy for you, and happy that I could help you. But—uh—"  
  
"It's okay," she says, her face falling a little. "I've been turned down before. I can handle it."  
  
"I—I'm sorry," he says lamely, not knowing what else to say.  
  
"It's this ex of yours, isn't it?"  
  
He nods. She's very perceptive. "Yeah. We've been spending some time together lately, and I think things are different now. I think we're moving toward a reconciliation. And I don't think it would be fair to try dating someone else until I'm sure whether or not that's going to work out."  
  
Crystal sighs. "Yeah. You've seemed so upbeat lately—I kind of figured something like that might be happening. But I had to try. You never know until you try, right?"  
  
He smiles gently. "Right."  
  
"Well, I'd better get to work now. And I hope things won't be weird between us now—will they?"  
  
"No." He shakes his head. "I'm still your friend. I promise. I won't let things be weird."  
  
"Good. I guess I'll see you in the party tent next week."  
  
"See you then."  
  
After Crystal leaves, Ben sinks onto the couch with a sigh. He's been waiting for a woman to make the first move—too bad it had to come from the wrong woman.  
  
*  
  
Even without the dear departed Li'l Sebastian (Ben still doesn't get the idolization of that little horse) the Harvest Festival opens with a bang and looks as if it may even exceed the amazing attendance of last year. And, though Ben hates to admit it, Tom's promise of the festival being good for Ben's "new biz" seems to be true. All the interaction with vendors has gotten him several promising leads on new clients for Mobile-CFO.  
  
Leslie is still too busy for much social time, but Ben notes that she seems to stop by the Party Tent to check in on them (him) way more often than she has to. _After, after, after_ , he reminds himself.  
  
Crystal works her first shift in the party tent on Tuesday afternoon, and Ben manages to keep things "not weird." In fact, she's rather refreshing after a whole morning spent in the company of Jean-Ralphio and LaTonya. While Tom and Jean-Ralphio are busy running a "game show" called "High Stakes Hijinks" that involves performing inane stunts for prizes, Crystal and Ben hang back by the tent door chatting. She's just in the middle of telling him a cute story about Davey when Leslie walks in.  
  
Ben could swear that Leslie's cheery smile seems to waver when she sees him and Crystal laughing together, but it bounces back so quick that he wonders if it was all in his imagination. "Hi you two!" she says cheerily. "How's the Party Tent this afternoon?"  
  
They all chat for a few minutes before Leslie says good-bye again and heads out on her rounds of the carnival.  
  
"She seems a little stressed," says Crystal as Leslie leaves.  
  
"Yeah. She's in charge of the whole Festival. It's a lot of work."  
  
Crystal's eyes narrow as she looks at him. "I'm sure that's it."  
  
That evening, when Crystal's shift ends and she waves goodnight, heading out the door, Tom shakes his head. "With half the girls from the Glitter Factory wanting to get with you, _of course_ you choose one of the ones with a kid."  
  
Ben's mouth hangs open in bafflement. "What?"  
  
Tom waves his hands. "It's cool and all. She's a good-looking woman. And you're a little older than me—maybe you're ready to play the daddy game. I just would've chosen someone with less baggage, if I were you."  
  
"But—I'm not dating Crystal."  
  
"Yeah. Right." Tom rolls his eyes and starts taking down the chairs from the "game show" audience.  
  
"I swear—I'm not!" Ben argues, following him.  
  
Tom swirls to face him. "Well why the fuck not? You're not gay. Gay dudes dress better than you. So what's your problem?"  
  
"I—I—" Does he dare tell Tom the truth about Leslie? No. Who knows what Tom might do with that information. Instead, he decides to give Tom the edited version. "I was dating someone back at the beginning of the year, and we broke up. But, uh, we've been reconnecting over the past couple of months, and I think we might get back together. That's why I'm not dating Crystal."  
  
Tom gives him an appraising look. "I call BS. You haven't been dating anyone the whole time I've known you."  
  
Ben sighs and rolls his eyes. "Yes, actually, I have."  
  
"Then why didn't you ever tell me about it? I thought I was your bro. Your main man here in Pawnee. What gives?" Tom looks genuinely slighted.  
  
"I'm---sorry. From now on, if I start dating anyone, I'll tell you. I promise."  
  
This seems to do the trick. Tom nods. "Good. Us dudes have got to stick together, right?"  
  
"Right."  
  
They get back to taking down the chairs and setting up for the nightly dance party.  
  
*  
  
Crystal works another shift Thursday morning, and in between that shift and her evening shift at the Glitter Factory she brings Davey by the carnival for a little fun. Since they only have a couple of hours, Ben uses his staff privileges to help them get to the front of the longer lines.  
  
While they are watching Davey take a pony ride, Ben hears a familiar bright voice.  
  
"Hi you guys!" says Leslie, walking up to join them. "Is Davey having fun with the ponies?"  
  
"So much fun," gushes Crystal. "He loves animals. He keeps begging me for a kitty, but I have to break his poor little heart and put my foot down. No pets until mommy finishes school—in, like, two and a half years."  
  
"Aww—poor little guy," says Leslie, leaning on the pony enclosure fence beside Crystal, and waving with her as Davey's pony passes. "But at least by then he'll be responsible enough to help take care of it."  
  
"I hope so," says Crystal, with a laugh.  
  
Leslie raises her eyes to Ben. "So are you giving them a guided tour?"  
  
He nods. "And a little help with the longer lines." He smiles and shrugs. "Rank has its privileges, right?"  
  
Her return smile looks a little strained. Maybe after Crystal leaves he can buy her a coffee—that might perk her up.  
  
"Well, you guys have fun. I have to get back to work."  
  
"Make sure you take your breaks," says Ben, giving her a stern look.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now you sound like Ann." Leslie rolls her eyes and waves goodbye as she walks away.  
  
*  
  
Ben is starting to feel ready for a nice long break by Saturday afternoon. He's gotten used to the more flexible schedule of E-720, where he gets to sleep in most mornings and takes a two or three hour lunch. (Of course, they make up for it by working late into the evening. Ben swears that Jean-Ralphio is nocturnal.) The early mornings _and_ late nights of the Harvest Festival are wearing him out.  
  
He and Tiffany take a much needed break to go pick up some strong coffee. They'll need it to get them through the night.  
  
Right by the coffee stand they see Leslie chatting with one of the police officers volunteering as security. He's a portly guy with a short red beard.  
  
Once he has his coffee in hand, Ben strides up to check on her. He knows Ann is doing her best to make Leslie rest once in a while, but he still worries.  
  
"Hi," he waves.  
  
"Oh, hi Ben," says Leslie. The police officer gives him a barely-interested glance. "This is my old friend, Dave. Dave, this is Ben—the consultant who's been helping us so much."  
  
Ben feels his stomach lurch. Dave. Her old friend—make that ex-boyfriend—Dave the cop. What the hell is he doing back in Pawnee? Didn't he move to California? And Dave gets to be an _old friend_ , while Ben is just the _consultant who's been helping_?  
  
"Good to meet you," says Dave, before turning back to Leslie. "So, uh, I'd better get back to work now. But, I'll, uh, see you tonight, okay?"  
  
Leslie nods. "Yep. Service entrance at eight o'clock. I'll be there."  
  
Ben thinks he might vomit.  
  
He watches in stomach-churning silence as Dave and Leslie wave goodbye, and Dave walks off into the crowd. Leslie turns back to him with a smile, but Ben can't bring himself to return it.  
  
"So you two are going out?" he asks in a hollow voice.  
  
"Yeah. He got back from an 18 month deployment last month, and we have a lot of catching up to do. Anyway, Ann's been—"  
  
"Hi Leslie," says Tiffany, walking up with her own coffee.  
  
"Hi," says Leslie. "How are things in the Party Tent today?"  
  
"Fabulous," replies Tiffany automatically. "And how is the rest of the Festival faring?"  
  
"Just great," says Leslie. "I was just telling Ben that I'm finally taking Ann's advice and taking a night off to relax."  
  
Ben winces at the word "relax." Exactly what kind of _relaxing_ does she have in mind?  
  
"Good for you," says Tiffany. "You need a break once in a while or you'll wear yourself out."  
  
"That's what Ann and Ben here keep telling me. They've appointed themselves the official guardians of my health." Leslie smiles and nudges Ben playfully on the arm.  
  
His mouth hangs open, but he can't think of one damn thing to say.  
  
"Well," says Leslie after a short silence, "I guess it's time to get back to the grindstone. See you around."  
  
"Bye," calls Tiffany, and Ben mutters some sort of farewell before chugging his coffee and chucking the cup in a nearby trashcan.  
  
"Whoa, what's your problem?" asks Tiffany, noticing the scowl on his face.  
  
"Nothing," he snaps, speeding up his strides back toward the Party Tent. Nothing except all this time that he's been telling himself to be patient—to wait until _after_ —Leslie's been moving on with another man. Why did he think playing the friend card again would actually work? Why did he let himself believe that there was a really a chance he and Leslie could ever be happy together again? He's just the same fucking idiot he was when she first dumped him. Nothing's really changed. Nothing at all.

TBC


	5. In Which Ben Finally Finds What He's Looking For

Ben manages to go through the motions all afternoon and into the evening, but his mind isn't on his work. It's right back in the same dismal hole it was in for so long after Leslie broke up with him. Just when everything seemed to be going so right. The job—the friends—the new path in life.   
  
Ben was never the type of person to define his life by his personal relationships. At least, not until he met Leslie. All his other successes of the past few months seem to fade into the background now that he realizes he's fucked up with her—again.  
  
Tiffany pulls him aside about an hour after they convert the tent into dance-party mode. "What the hell is your problem, today?" she says, her sharp tone piercing through the pounding music.  
  
Ben just shakes his head and shrugs. "I don't know."  
  
"Bullshit. You've been grouching at everyone today for the littlest things. Layla's starting to think you're really mad at her. I've never seen you like this before—what the hell is going on?"  
  
Ben rubs his face in his hands. "God. I'm just—I think maybe I should go home. I can't do this tonight."  
  
"No," Tiffany grabs his arm. "You can't fall apart on us like this. Now get your act together and tell me what's going on so we can fix it, and get back to work."  
  
Apparently, there's no getting out this. He sighs. "I ran into the ex today. And I think she's getting back together with _another_ of her exes. It really threw me. I'm sorry."  
  
"God, not _this_ again, Ben. Get over it."  
  
He shakes off her grip on his arm. "I’m sorry if I’m not the type of guy who can just _get over_ losing the love his life, okay? I wish I could be that guy, but I'm not."  
  
Tiffany scrunches her forehead in confusion and shakes her head. "When'd you have time to run into your ex, anyway? I was with you practically all day, and I don't remember seeing anyone who—" she freezes, her jaw dropping.  
  
Fuck. Ben shakes his head. "It's nothing. I'll handle it. Let it drop, okay?"  
  
Tiffany ignores him. Her voice drips with amazement. "It's Leslie, isn't it? Oh my god. This whole time I was expecting some power-suit-wearing psycho-bitch, but it's been Leslie all along, hasn't it?"  
  
Ben sinks to the edge of a table, resting his face is his hands. "I can't deal with this right now. Please, just let it drop." His stomach is starting to churn again. Maybe he really _is_ going to throw up.  
  
"No. Ben—god! This is crazy." Tiffany sits down beside him, and starts rubbing his back. "I've been noticing how into Leslie you are, and I was thinking it was great—you were finally letting go of the psycho-bitch ex and crushing on someone new. I had no idea Leslie was the one who broke your heart. But—damn. Yeah, she really couldn't have run for mayor while sleeping with her boss, could she? I guess I get it now."  
  
"There were so many days when I wanted to hate her for hurting me," Ben says, squeezing his eyes shut against the rising moisture, and shaking his head. "But I couldn't. We'd only been together for two months, but she's loved this town and wanted to run for office here her whole life. And she'll be an amazing mayor. I know she will be. How could I hate her for making that choice? If I'd been in her position, I probably would have done the same thing."  
  
"God. And I thought it was so cute to see you crushing on her. You two seem so perfect for each other. No wonder you've had such a hard time getting over her. Why didn't you just get back together once you weren't her boss anymore?"  
  
Ben wipes his eyes, trying to pull himself together. "I guess I just—I couldn't trust her anymore. I couldn’t forgive her."  
  
"Have you forgiven her now?"  
  
That's the big question, isn't it? The one that's been nagging at his mind, stirring up doubts and fears. "I think—I think I have," he finally admits. "But I'm still scared to trust her again."  
  
Tiffany nods and sighs, still rubbing his back. "I get it. But seriously, man, you need to go for it. Take the risk. I mean, I know you can take risks. You took one when you started working here, and another when you hired me, and another with this new business of yours. Why can't you take a risk with Leslie, too?"  
  
Because it terrifies him. Because he's afraid she'll just break him all over again. Because he gave her his all last time, and it wasn't enough to keep her. He shakes his head.  
  
"What's the worst that can happen?" asks Tiffany. "She rejects you again. It's not like it'll kill you. And then at least you finally know where you stand so you can get on with your life. Right?"  
  
"You make it sound so easy."  
  
"It is that easy. It might hurt like hell—but that's life, isn't it? Now go find her. Tell her how you feel. And do it now, before you bite Layla's head off again."  
  
"I can't. She's on a date with her other ex tonight." Ben slumps lower on his perch.  
  
"Don't get hung up on that. One date doesn't equal a relationship. Besides, if you've been as obtuse with Leslie as I think you've been, I can't really blame her for going on a date with someone else. She probably thinks you're dating Crystal."  
  
That makes Ben sit up straight. "What?"  
  
Tiffany shrugs. "I did, at first. I had to ask Crystal straight up what was going on with you two to find out you were just friends. And Leslie's seen you being all cute with Crystal and Davey a few times, hasn't she? She probably figures you've moved on. I would, if I was her."  
  
Ben's mouth hangs open, his wide eyes staring at the tent wall. Tom thought the same thing. And even Crystal seemed to think there was a chance. Why the hell didn't he think of this? "God, I am such an idiot." He looked desperately at Tiffany. "What do I do?"  
  
"You talk to her, Ben." Tiffany's gaze is level, her tone a little condescending—not that he blames her for talking down to him. He kind of deserves it. "You tell her the truth, and see what she says back. And you do it as soon as possible, before things have a chance to go any further with this other guy. Got it?"  
  
Ben nods dumbly. Tell her the truth? The whole messy truth, and nothing but the truth? Shit—this is going to be hard.  
  
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some Mouse Rat DVDs to push." Tiffany stands up and pats him on the back one more time. "You'll figure it out."  
  
Ben sits, breathing deep, for a few minutes, trying to collect his thoughts. Then he pulls out his phone. Just past nine—she'll still be in the middle of her date. He's tempted to call, but he's afraid he might lose his nerve. No. This has to be face to face. But it needs to be soon—before anything happens with Dave. Ben doesn't think he could handle that.  
  
So he texts her. "Need to talk to you. Soon. Tonight. In person."  
  
Okay. Maybe that sounds a little too urgent—maybe it's not fair to be that vague. But he can't afford to be fair. Not right now.  
  
He's on edge for the rest of the night, but at least he's not snapping at people anymore.  
  
Relief washes over him when, at about 10:40 (just before closing time) Leslie rushes into the tent, locks eyes on him, and hurries over. "Ben—I got your text just a little while ago—I wasn't checking my phone, or I'd have gotten it sooner. Is everything okay?"  
  
Ben sees Tiffany out of the corner of his eye giving him a pointed "go for it, idiot" look.  
  
"Yeah—um—can we go outside, where we can actually hear ourselves speak?"  
  
Leslie nods, and they step out of the noisy tent and walk a few yards down the now sparsely populated row of vendors. Leslie's still wearing her work clothes, which Ben finds somewhat reassuring. She probably would have changed first if the date was a big deal—at least, she usually had for _him_ back in the day.  
  
"So what's up? Why the text?" she asks when they come to a halt.  
  
His mind skims through all his possible opening lines: _"Don't date Dave." "I love you." "I want you back."_  
  
He finds himself blurting out, "I'm not dating Crystal."  
  
Leslie stares up at him, her mouth slightly open, looking bewildered.  
  
Crap. Well, he's chosen his course, he'd better follow through. "I've never been dating Crystal. We're just friends. And I'm not leading her on, or anything—we've talked about it and she knows where I stand. So—uh—I just—I just wanted you to know that."  
  
He bites down on his tongue to stop his inane babble. God, he must look like such an idiot right now.  
  
Leslie's eyes are wide, and she looks down, as if pondering her words. "Oh. Okay. I guess I had wondered, a little. Maybe. I mean, you seem really attached to her and Davey."  
  
Fuck. Is this actually _working_? "It's just that Davey's dad ditched them with no child support, you know. Like Dana," he mentions his sister. Leslie knows all about Dana. "So since I can't be there in person to help Dana, it felt good to be helping someone else in the same kind of circumstance, and we got to be friends. That's all it ever was."  
  
The corners of Leslie's mouth quirk up. A very good sign. "That's actually really sweet. I'm sure Davey could use a positive male role-model in his life."  
  
"Exactly." Ben nods.  
  
Leslie takes a deep breath, looking nervous for just a moment before blurting out, "I'm not dating Dave, either. He wants to, but I don't feel that way about him anymore. I was on the way home—to my house—alone—when I noticed your text. So. Yeah."  
  
Ben doesn't feel any less like an idiot, but at least now he's a happy idiot. He nods, smiling a little. "Well. Great. Cool. I'm, uh, glad we had this talk."  
  
Leslie smiles back. "Me too."  
  
Now what? Ben is pretty sure that Tiffany will kick his ass if he leaves it at this. "So—I was thinking, maybe, next week when things aren't so crazy anymore, maybe we could—uh—spend some time together? Not just coffee, but maybe dinner or something?" Pretty lame, but it's a start. He has to start _somewhere_.  
  
Her smile is soft and warm as she nods. "Yeah. I might have re-arrange some campaign stuff. But dinner would be really nice."  
  
His stomach is lurching again, but this time it's the good kind of lurch—not the vomit out of self-loathing kind. "Awesome. Well, maybe we can touch base on Monday and coordinate our schedules?"  
  
"That sounds great. Perfect. Really. I look forward to it."  
  
Now Ben can't stop himself from grinning. So much for "after." Waiting was a crap idea in the first place. It does nothing but prolong the agony. And he totally owes Tiffany. Big time. "Okay," he says. "Well—" He edges toward her just a bit.  
  
"Well—" She edges toward him.  
  
His heart is racing as their eyes remain locked. She looks like she wants him to kiss her. He feels like he wants to kiss her. Okay. Going for it—  
  
Naturally, that's when the sound of crashing furniture and loud shrieking emanates from the Ultimate Party Tent.  
  
Ben looks toward the tent. "Fuck. Uh—"  
  
"I'll go get security—you see what you can do to help in there." And Leslie is off in a flash, already pulling her staff walky-talky from her purse.  
  
Ben barely has time to regret the interruption, because people are running away from the tent, and the sounds of chaos are getting louder, and that equipment cost a lot of money. He dashes through the tent door and ducks out of the way just in time as a folding chair comes flying at him. "Holy shit!"  
  
Four intoxicated-looking twenty-somethings are screaming obscenities at each other, one of them still brandishing a folding chair threateningly. Layla and Tiffany are huddled together in the corner (Tiffany is protectively clutching the cash box to her chest—good girl), Tom is valiantly trying to block the huge 10-flat screen TV multimedia display, and Jean-Ralphio is cowering under a table.  
  
Steeling himself, Ben strides toward the belligerent group, calling out, "Hey—cool it down guys. Security is on the way, and you could be in some serious trouble if you don't calm down."  
  
Now the intoxicated group starts yelling obscenities at _him_. Perfect. Just perfect.  
  
Fortunately security shows up before any more chairs go flying. Unfortunately, security has to use pepper spray. And there is just enough of a breeze blowing through the tent door to spread the pepper spray beyond its intended targets.  
  
While the security guards hold the four aggressors in custody, waiting for police back-up to arrive, the entire staff of the Ultimate Party Tent and the few visitors who didn't make it out in time sit on the ground outside the tent with burning eyes and tears streaming down their faces. But somehow, Ben doesn't mind so much. After all—Leslie is the one pouring clean bottled water over his eyes for him and helping him dry off afterward. And she squeezes his hand before they part ways for the night.  
  
Yeah. Not a bad day after all.  
  
*  
  
Ben and Leslie are both so busy on Sunday—the final day of the Harvest Festival—that he still doesn't see her any more than he did on the other days of the festival. But in the brief moments they have together, it feels as if the whole world has shifted under their feet. There's a new lightness—a new sense of freedom. All their professional reserve and hesitation has melted away, and they can just be---be—whatever it is they are now.  
  
Ben has no word for it yet— _friends_ is inadequate, but words like _dating_ or _lovers_ don't yet apply. Whatever it is, though—this strange, indefinable thing—it's the best he's felt in, well, months.  
  
When Tiffany sees them resurrecting their old handshake of triumph to celebrate the fact that they managed to keep the "incident" in the party tent last night out of the press, she rolls her eyes. A few minutes later, after Leslie leaves, she comes up to Ben and says, "I told you, you just had to talk to her."  
  
He nods ruefully. "Yeah, yeah. I guess I owe you one."  
  
She just smiles and shakes her head. "Nope. You got me a job that I love, and now you're phasing yourself out of the company. I predict that within six months of you going consultant-only, I'll be running this whole show. _I'm_ the one who owes _you_."  
  
Ben can't help but laugh. "You're probably right." And really, she probably is.  
  
*  
  
Ben feels ridiculously happy to be sitting next to Leslie in the City Hall courtyard again Monday morning. It's such a little thing—but really, it's the little things that make life worth living.  
  
He has his calendar pulled up on his iPad, and she has hers pulled up on her smart phone, so that they can try to arrange their schedules to make room for a date. (He wonders if he should get her a tablet computer for Christmas. She'd probably like it a lot. Is it too early to be thinking about things like Christmas presents?)  
  
"How about Wednesday?" she asks. "I'd have to cancel one thing and reschedule another, but I could make it work."  
  
"Hmm. I'll be in Snerling all afternoon working with a client, and then as soon as I get back there's a big meeting to finalize the details for a party we're doing this week—but I could probably get out of it—" Maybe. If he spent a few hours briefing Tiffany on all the details he's worked out.  
  
"If we both have to do a ton of shuffling, it probably means Wednesday is out. And Tuesday and Thursday are _definitely_ out for me. How about Friday?"  
  
Ben sighs. "Friday is the party. I don't think I can skip out on this one. We spent so much time focusing on the Harvest Fest that we're seriously underprepared for this one."  
  
"Crap." Leslie looks up to meet his eyes. "We are both way too busy, aren't we?"  
  
"Yeah. It kind of sucks. Um. Well—how about Saturday? I was going to go golfing with Chris all afternoon, but I can cancel if I have to. He'll be okay with it."  
  
She looks back down at her calendar. "Saturday I was going to spend the morning in Indianapolis shopping for a few new outfits for my last pre-election media events, and then there's a mixer with the local legal community in the evening. But—uh—I guess I can skip out on the mixer. It would be pretty boring, anyway. How does that sound?" She looks up with an eager smile on her face.  
  
A light bulb goes on in Ben's head. It's one of those ideas that might have seemed ridiculously forward to him a few weeks ago, when he was trying to take things slow. But he's sick of slow. He's ready for this. It's time to go all in.  
  
"You know—I still have a storage unit in Indianapolis with some of my old stuff in it," he says. "And I'm a pretty permanent fixture in Pawnee now, so I think it's about time I cleared it out and brought the stuff back here. How about we go to Indianapolis together? While you're shopping, I can clear out my storage unit. And then we can spend the afternoon and evening together in Indy? Make a day of it?" (And maybe a night of it, too—though he's not quite ready to be _that_ forward.)  
  
Leslie's wearing her sunshine smile again. God, she's gorgeous.   
  
She nods. "Yeah. I would really like that. Ann keeps telling me I need to take a day off to have some fun. This sounds absolutely perfect for that."  
  
"Remind me to thank Ann." He slides his hand over to hers, and threads their fingers together. Holy god, how did he go so many months without touching her?  
  
"I'm really glad you think of Pawnee as your permanent home, now," she says.  
  
"Me too."  
  
*  
  
Ben drops by City Hall Thursday morning to turn in his final budget analysis for the Harvest Festival. He delivers one copy to Chris, and then carries another copy down to the Parks Department for Leslie. Any excuse to see her before Saturday. They've been texting and emailing and even managed one decent-length phone conversation, but their paths haven't crossed since Monday and he's antsy to see her again.  
  
He gets lucky—she's actually in her office. Her face lights up when he steps into her doorway.  
  
"Hi, just dropping off my final Harvest Festival report," he says, trying to sound casual.  
  
"Thanks. That'll be great—I'm trying to wrap up my own final reports to get to Chris and City Council, so this came just in time." Her words are just as casual as his, but the look in her eyes is anything but.  
  
"Glad to help," he replies, handing over the papers.  
  
Their eyes lock for a lingering moment, and he can feel his heart beat a little faster.  
  
"Hey—I was on my way up to Public Records to dig out some historical data on previous Harvest Festivals for my report. Would you like to walk me out?" she asks with that glorious mischievous gleam in her eyes.  
  
"Sure. After you."  
  
He walks beside her down the hall, making trivial small-talk—the only sort of conversation they're comfortable with in City Hall. As they pass conference room four, she suddenly darts inside, pulling him after her.  
  
She flicks on the lights and shuts the door.  
  
Ben smiles, staring down at her bemusedly. "What—?"  
  
She cuts off his question by gripping his neck and pulling him down for a kiss.  
  
Frozen in surprise for a few seconds, his instincts quickly kick in, one hand threading through her hair, the other clutching at the small of her back, pulling her closer as his lips move hungrily against hers. Dizzy warmth spreads through his whole body. Everything feels so familiar—yet new and exciting at the same time. God, it's been way too long since he's done this.  
  
A minute later she draws back, breathing deep. He doesn't let go—won't let go (not yet)—and rests his forehead against hers as they both catch their breath.  
  
"I wanted to see if that would be as good as I remembered it," she says.  
  
He grins, releasing a breathy laugh. "Was it?"  
  
"Better."  
  
They stand leaning into one another for another minute, simply listening to the sound of each other's breathing—taking in one another's scent, and the feel of their bodies against each other for the first time in such a long time.  
  
"I really do need to get to Public Records," she says.  
  
He laughs. "I thought you made that up."  
  
"No. It's always valuable to ground current reports by including appropriate historical comparisons—"  
  
He cuts her off with another kiss—this time going deeper, grinding her body against his. He wonders if she can take an hour or two off—?  
  
She pulls back again, panting. "God—we can't keep doing this, or I won't get any work done. And I've got a tight schedule today. I really need to—"  
  
"It's okay." He gradually releases his grip on her, stepping back. "I understand." And he really does. Leslie is a workaholic's workaholic. He doesn't doubt that she's on a tight schedule, and he knows that as much as they both might enjoy slipping away for a few hours, she wouldn't enjoy it as much as him because half her mind would still be back here. That's not how he wants it to go. Her wants all of her. No distractions. No regrets.  
  
"Go do your work, " he says. "I'll see you on Saturday." He hopes she hears the weight of the promises behind his simple statement. Her answering smile seems to say that she does.  
  
"See you on Saturday." She slips out the door, leaving him to collect himself a few minutes before heading back out to his car.  
  
The next day and half will never go fast enough.  
  
*  
  
The Friday night party is a pretty small affair—just a corporate dinner party for top executives at Sweetums. But, with the potential of Sweetums becoming a much bigger client in the future, the E-720 team has been obsessing about getting everything just right all week.  
  
Halfway through the evening, everything seems to be going like clockwork, from the new corporate video Jean-Ralphio and Tom put together to the catering to the live music. If this doesn't leave a good impression, nothing will.  
  
Ben lingers back by the catering entrance, taking in the view. Event planning may not be his dream career, but it's still satisfying to see an event come together so perfectly. Tom strolls up beside him.  
  
"We're kicking ass," says Tom, nodding smugly at the scene. "I bet we'll land the Sweetums annual Christmas party after this. That'll be some big bucks."  
  
"Yeah. I bet we will." Tom isn't the kind of guy Ben would have ever befriended if they hadn't been thrown together by work. But he's turned out to be a really awesome, loyal friend. And Ben owes him something. "You know how last week I promised I'd tell you if I started dating someone?"  
  
Tom's eyes light up, and his jaw drops in an open-mouthed smile.  
  
"Well," continues Ben. "I'm dating someone."  
  
"Awesome! Who is it, dude? Did you finally decide to go for Crystal? Or did LaTonya finally wear you down? Or is it that mysterious ex of yours?"  
  
Ben smiles and shakes his head. "It's the mysterious ex. But she's not so mysterious. You actually know her pretty well."  
  
Tom scrunches his brows in confusion. "Huh? What are talking about?"  
  
Ben's actually enjoying this. Confession is good for the soul, and so is laughter. This promises to achieve both at once. "It's Leslie. I was dating Leslie for two months at the beginning of the year, but we had to keep it secret so Chris wouldn't fire us. And now we're getting back together."  
  
Tom looks frozen, utter shock on his face. For once he seems to be struggling to find words (something that certainly doesn't often happen). Ben starts to chuckle. It's perfect.  
  
"You're putting me on," says Tom, finally.   
  
Ben shakes his head, still chuckling. "I'm not. I'm really not. Just ask Tiffany—she knows."  
  
"Tiffany knows!?"  
  
"She figured it out on her own—woman's intuition or something. But, yeah. I'm with Leslie. We're going to Indianapolis together tomorrow."  
  
Tom's jaw drops again. "Oh my god, dude! You're serious, aren't you?"  
  
"As serious as I've ever been."  
  
Tom shakes his head. "Wow. I've never thought about Leslie, you know, _that way_ , before. But, now that I think about it, you two really make sense together." Tom pats his shoulder. "Good for you, man. I really hope it works out."  
  
"Thanks. I hope so, too."  
  
"Damn." Tom shakes his head again. "Nothing is ever going to surprise me again after this."  
  
Ben doubts that very much.  
  
*  
  
Ben pulls his rental van up to Leslie's house promptly at 7:30 am Saturday morning. His small bag sits in the back. He did bring a few essentials for a potential overnight stay, (though he's not presuming anything) but mostly just packed a change of clothes suitable for a nice restaurant. He's dressed in jeans, a white t-shirt, and an untucked button-down plaid shirt. Clothes suitable for his storage-unit errand. He's glad he's not underdressed when Leslie answers the door wearing casual pants with a cozy-looking sweater. His smile perks a little higher when he notices that she's carrying her own small overnight bag. And his heart leaps when she greets him with a kiss.  
  
"I've been looking forward to this trip all week," she says. "It's been hard to focus on my work."  
  
"I know what you mean." His arms wrap around her waist. "You're amazingly distracting, even when you aren't around."  
  
She grins, and kisses him again. (Okay—maybe he can start presuming. . .)  
  
Sitting beside her on the road to Indianapolis, Ben feels like they've come full circle. This is how the romantic phase of their relationship began in the first place. He laughs out loud when Leslie produces a CD and says that Ann made a mix for them.  
  
"No banjo, this time, I hope."  
  
"I don't know," says Leslie, waving the CD in the air. "She made me promise not to listen to it until we were together. Can I turn it on, please?"  
  
How can he say no?  
  
The first three songs are _Un-break My Heart, With or Without You,_ and _Love Takes Time_. "I'm starting to sense a pattern, here," says Ben.  
  
"Yeah. Ann really outdid herself this time."  
  
After another ten minutes of heartbreak and reconciliation songs, Ben is just about ready to turn the music off. Leslie asks him to wait just a little longer (she seems to be actually _enjoying_ Ann's odd audio chastisement—or is a lecture—or maybe a self-help book?) and the mix segues into a seemingly endless stream of happier love songs ranging in tone from cheesy to triumphant (okay, definitely a self-help book). These songs are more bearable, so Ben just turns the volume down a little and turns his focus back to conversation.  
  
Leslie has just over three weeks left of her campaign, and almost every moment of those three weeks are meticulously planned. She speaks with such excitement of all her upcoming plans that her enthusiasm almost overcomes his jealousy—after today he won't have much time alone with her until after the election. But it does highlight what a big deal this day off with him really is. She wouldn't do this for just anyone.  
  
She's just about finished describing her plans when Ben notices that the music has shifted again—the past few songs all have decidedly sexual overtones, from Boyz II Men to Marvin Gaye, to Barry White. Ann has a very odd sense of humor. Leslie doesn't seem to notice, so Ben doesn't mention it and just lets her keep on talking. Until _Closer_ by Nine Inch Nails comes on.  
  
Even Leslie's jaw drops when she hears the lyrics " _I want to fuck you like an anima_ l" blaring over the speakers. Apparently she's not a Nine Inch Nails fan.  
  
"Ann has kind of a dirty mind, doesn't she?" says Ben.  
  
Leslie quickly reaches out to switch off the music, her cheeks flushing pink. "Yeah. It's usually kind of fun. But it's also usually just girl-talk. I didn't expect her to do this sort of thing for my boyfriend."  
  
"Boyfriend." Ben grins. Maybe Ann knew what she was doing, after all. "So is that what I am, now?"  
  
"Well—" Leslie flounders for words, "I assumed you were."  
  
He laughs a little, and reaches over to take her hand. "Don't freak out. You assumed right."  
  
"Good," she says, a little defiantly.  
  
*  
  
Neither of them much feel like parting ways for the morning when they reach Indianapolis, so Leslie comes with him to the storage unit. It takes them a grand total of fifteen minutes to load the van with all his worldly possessions—a collection of cardboard boxes and plastic bins, a framed Star Wars poster, and a signed mounted baseball bat.  
  
He wipes his dusty hands on his jeans and looks at the small load of cargo in the back of the van. "Well. That's it. My life in Indianapolis is now officially, permanently, over."  
  
Leslie takes his hand and leans against him. "Pawnee is lucky to have you. I'm lucky to have you."  
  
She really means it, doesn't she? Even during their ride up to the city he couldn’t help but wonder just how invested she is in this. He thought she was as invested as him last time, and was proved wrong. But now, things seem—different. He hopes he's not reading too much into this. He hopes they're finally on the same page.  
  
"The feeling is mutual," he says softly, placing a kiss on her temple.  
  
God, they'd better be on the same page this time.  
  
*  
  
Ben almost starts to regret their decision to do everything together all day after the first two hours of their trip to the mall. Leslie is the most chronically indecisive clothing shopper he's ever met (not that he's been shopping with many women—just two old girlfriends and his mom. And his mom doesn't really count). She insists on modeling every single possible outfit choice for him, and reevaluates everything based on the tiniest twitches in his facial expression or the slightest pause in his speech as he offers opinions. But, if this relationship is really going to last, he supposes this is the sort of thing he'd better get used to.   
  
By the time they take a break for lunch in the mall food-court, she's only purchased two out of the four outfits she says she needs. And an hour and a half after lunch she's only picked a third outfit. Ben finally loses patience and drags her back to a store they've already visited to re-assemble one of her previously discarded outfits. "Just get this one," he insists. "It looks good on you, and it'll mix and match well with some of the clothes you already have at home." He pushes the clothes into her hands.  
  
Her eyes narrow. "Do you have my wardrobe memorized, or something?"  
  
"I've spent a fair amount of time over the past year paying attention to your appearance, yes." He says. Far too much time.  
  
That puts a little smile on her face. "Okay. Fine. I'll get it. Are you sure?"  
  
He sighs. "I would like to show you around Indianapolis a little before the sun goes down."  
  
"Fine. I'll go pay now." And, thankfully, she does.  
  
*  
  
They pay a visit to the statehouse, and seeing that building again through Leslie's eyes doesn't exactly reawaken Ben's old feelings of awe—but it does help him remember. And it's a good memory.  
  
"Do you think, someday, I could be a state senator?" she asks timidly, standing in the center of the statehouse rotunda, staring up-up-up.  
  
"Absolutely." He stands just behind her and wraps his arms around her waist.  
  
"Do you really mean that? You're not just saying it?"  
  
"I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it." And he _does_ mean it.  
  
Leslie gets very quiet.  
  
"Are you all right?" he asks.  
  
"My mom doesn't think I'll win. She hasn't said it, but I can tell. She keeps telling me how proud of me she is for running such a great campaign. Like that's all it'll ever be. A campaign." Worry tinges her voice.  
  
"I'm sure she doesn't mean it that way."  
  
"I'm sure she does."  
  
Ben gently turns Leslie around to face him. "I think you'll win."  
  
"What if I don't?" The fear in her eyes is palpable.  
  
He remembers this feeling. It's been a long, long time since he's thought about it. But seeing it on her face he remembers being an eighteen year old kid with all his hopes and dreams pinned on one single day, and the dreadful "what if?"  
  
"If you don't win," he says softly, "then you'll still be the best damn Deputy Parks Director in the State of Indiana—quite possibly the best in America."  
  
"What if that's not enough anymore?"  
  
"Then we'll find something more."  
  
"We will?"  
  
"Yes. We will." He kisses her forehead and pulls her close into a hug. When he's with her like this, he's pretty damn sure he's already found his something more.  
  
*  
  
He takes her for a walk along the river in the late afternoon. The sun will be setting soon, and the chill of autumn is in the air. They both wear jackets to ward off the breeze.  
  
In spite of the cold, Leslie insists on getting an ice cream from the vendor they pass. Ben finds them a bench to sit on while she eats. He likes to watch the way she runs her tongue around the perimeter of her scoop, and then takes a slurping bite from the top. She repeats the same pattern over and over, until the scoop is gone.  
  
As she eats, he talks, telling her a little about his days working in the city full time, before he hit the road as an auditor. "I liked to come here on days when I didn't have any lunch plans with people from work. It was nice to just sit and watch the water flow away from me. It helped remind me that there are some things that don't need to be analyzed or controlled. They manage themselves just fine. Just like that river." (Yes, he knows there are city and state civil engineers who spend a lot of time analyzing and controlling the river to make sure there's no chance of flooding. But it still makes a very nice metaphor.)  
  
Ben looks over at her, studying her profile. Her hair is slightly mussed from trying on so many different outfits, and her eyes look a little tired, but there is still a warm smile on her face. She earned this moment of peace—she worked her ass off for it.  
  
Then, her smile fades. "Ben," she says softly, still staring at the river, "I need to apologize to you. For the way I treated you this past spring."  
  
"No." He shakes his head. "You don't need to—"  
  
"Yes. I do. I've said sorry before, but all I ever meant was that I was sorry we had to break up. I felt sorry for myself. I never really apologized for what I did to you after that." She looks down at her lap. "I wanted so badly for things to turn out just the way I imagined them—winning the election and then working out a way for us to be together again—that I didn't pay attention to what you needed. I just kept clinging to you, and expecting you to follow along with whatever I wanted. And when you didn't—when you walked away from my campaign, and then from your job—I was so mad at you. I felt like you'd ruined everything. Like you'd given up on me—or betrayed me. But I was the one who betrayed you first. I finally see that. And I'm sorry."  
  
"Leslie—"  
  
"No—let me finish. I need to apologize for not letting go, and for blaming you. Because I see now that you really needed a cleaner break—you needed the space that I refused to give you. We probably both did. But I wasn't brave enough to let go—and you were. And look at you now." She raises her eyes to him for the first time since she started talking. "You're—amazing. Everything you've accomplished—all the people you've helped. You've changed, and grown, and taken all kinds of risks and made them work out. And you did it all on your own. I had to have a group of citizens push me into finally taking a risk and following my dream—but you just went and _did it_. No one had to push you, or give you permission. It's just—so—awesome. And I was standing in that way of all that. And I'm so, so sorry—"  
  
As great as it is to hear her say all this (and it's pretty fucking great) he can't let her pump him up by disparaging herself. That's no way to make a fresh start. "No. Don't even think about blaming yourself for anything," he says. "We both screwed up. We both made mistakes. And we've both changed—and I hope to god we've both learned a few things so we don’t screw up that bad again. I don't want to think about the past anymore, Leslie. I'm ready to let it go. I know we can't forget what happened, but can we at least put it behind us and just—just look forward? Focus on the future? Can we do that—together?" He takes her hand.  
  
"I want to. But I'm scared of screwing this up again. I want to do things _right_ this time."  
  
"Well—let's talk about that. What do we need to do differently from before?" He has a few ideas of his own, but he'd like to hear her out, first.  
  
She takes a deep breath and snuggles a little closer to his side. "Well, for starters, no more sneaking around or secret dating. This is the real thing, and I don't want to hide it. I mean, I don't want to have a press conference or anything—you're terrible with the press—but we at least need to tell our friends and co-workers, and probably my campaign staff, too."  
  
Yes, yes, and yes. The secrecy was, in Ben's opinion, the main downfalls of their first attempt at a relationship. "Good. Because, uh, I already told Tom. And Tiffany."  
  
Leslie finally smiles. "I guess we were thinking on the same track. God—what did Tom say?"  
  
"He was a little shocked—but I think he approves. Not that we need his approval."  
  
"And we'll have to tell Chris," she says, looking serious again.   
  
Ben nods. "I've wondered—for a long time—what would have happened if we'd just taken our chances with Chris in the first place. Would it really have been that bad?"  
  
She raises her eyebrows. "I thought we weren't dwelling on the past?"  
  
"Yeah. Right. Well—I can tell Chris. We still hang out once in awhile."  
  
"Okay. Good. And I'll tell my mom. You should probably avoid her for at least a month or two, by the way."  
  
"Uh—why?" He dreads the answer.  
  
Leslie sighs. "I kind of—vented some of my frustrations to her, after the drunk-dial incident. She doesn't think too highly of you right now. I need to butter her up a little before you see her again."  
  
Knowing Marlene, a few weeks of "buttering up" still might not be enough. But Ben will have to cross that bridge when he comes to it.  
  
"And," continues Leslie, "I know this might sound a little petty and possessive, but whatever. You've made a lot of female friends over the past few months, and I'd really like you to make it clear to all of them that you're taken." She levels a stern gaze at him. "Can you do that?"  
  
He stifles a laugh. "Okay. I'll spread the word."  
  
"Good."  
  
"Okay. Now. Here's something else." He pauses. This is the big one—the deal-breaker. But it has to be said. He's committed himself to living his own life—not just falling back into orbit around Leslie, and this is the only way. "If we're going to be serious about this relationship—and I'd really like to be serious about it—" She smiles and nods in agreement, a very encouraging sign. "—then we have to take a look at how we make big decisions. And how we prioritize our lives. I think we need to make big decisions—like when you should run for state senate—together. Not unilaterally."  
  
"Okay." She nods. "I can do that. I might get a little carried away sometimes—but if something is important, we can work it out together. I promise."  
  
Yeah—she might need a little help on that the first few times. But if she's willing, he's pretty sure they can make it work.  
  
"And there has to be a clear separation between our work, and our personal lives," he says. "Because last time, work kept getting in the way and taking over. We need to make this relationship a priority, even if it sometimes means sacrificing time we'd otherwise spend on work. If we don't treat this thing between us as important, then it's not going to _be_ important."  
  
He can see her clenching her jaw a little, and she looks back out at the river. Finally, she nods. "Yes. You're right. I always make time for my friends when they need me, and this is even more important than friends. This is—" she takes a deep breath, and turns back to meet his eyes, "this is _the_ most important thing right now. Why else would I give you a whole Saturday this close to the election? Like I said, Ben, I'm not screwing this up again. I mean it."  
  
 _The most important thing_. Wow. He hadn't realized before this moment just how much he needed to hear those words. Because Leslie was the most important thing for him in Pawnee long before he ever dared tell her how he felt about her. And now—finally—she feels the same way. God, what a relief. He sits in dizzy astonishment, just smiling. It takes him a minute to find his voice again. "Okay. Okay. That's—that's—really—great." He's babbling. But really, if there's any occasion that justifies babbling, this is it.  
  
He tries to regain his capacity for rational self-expression by focusing on the other issues he'd planned on bringing up. "And—and—and I know that there are times when you'll be really busy—like you were with the Harvest Festival, and like you will be for the next few weeks leading up to the election. I get that. And I'll be there for you. Because I want to support you, and, and your career. If it's important to you, it's important to me, too."  
  
"And I know you'll be pretty busy dividing your time between E-720 and getting Mobile-CFO up and running. I _want_ you to be busy, because I want your business to succeed. I really do." She grips his hands, smiling encouragingly.  
  
"So we'll have to work together to make room in our schedules just for us—no work. Just you and me."  
  
"Absolutely. No matter how busy we get, this thing—the two of us—has to be a priority. I'll _make_ it a priority." She looks as deadly earnest as he's ever seen her. "I didn't do that, before. I tried to fit you into the empty spaces of my life, and bend the relationship to fit my career." She rolls her eyes. "Doomed to failure. But not this time."  
  
"Not this time," he agrees. Damn, he loves this woman. Would it be too soon to tell her? She sounds pretty committed—it might not make her run away. . . .  
  
"I love you," she says.  
  
His mouth hangs open. His mind is frozen, the words echoing in his ears. Did he just hear that right?  
  
"You don't have to say anything back," she adds hastily. "I don't mean to pressure you, or push you, or anything. But I've felt this way for a while now, and I wanted you to know. So you'd understand how serious I am about making things work this time." He can see the anxiety in her eyes—the fear.  
  
He needs to do something about that.  
  
"Leslie," he says softly, "I fell in love with you the first time we kissed, and I haven't stopped loving you since—not even when I wanted to." He cups her face in his hands. "I love you. I love you."  
  
He holds her gaze just long enough to see her smile return, and to notice the moisture welling in her eyes, and then he kisses her. And she kisses him back.  
  
They don't come up for air for a long time.  
  
Finally, panting, Leslie says, "Do we have to go back to Pawnee tonight?"  
  
"Hell no."  
  
"Good. Then we'd better get a hotel room fast, before I start doing things to you that aren't fit to be seen in a public park."  
  
There's no arguing with that logic.

 

TBC


	6. In Which Ben Survives the (New) Most Important Mayoral Election of His Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I forgot to upload this sooner! Life got crazy and I spaced it. But here it is now: the conclusion.

Ben splurges for one of the nicest rooms in one of the nicest hotels in downtown Indianapolis, and only inwardly cringes at the $439 a night price, maintaining outward calm. Because Leslie deserves nothing but the best, and he intends to give it to her.  
  
The first time they make love is a hurried, somewhat frantic encounter, releasing nearly eight months of pent-up sexual frustration in one swift explosion, as if they're both afraid they'll roll over in a few minutes to find it was nothing more than a dream and they have to make the most of every second until they wake up. In truth, it's not that different from the first time they ever slept together.  
  
Afterward, as they lie tangled around each other, Ben feels lightheaded and a little giddy. So this is what it's like to have all his dreams come true.   
  
"I love you," she murmurs again.  
  
"I love you, back."  
  
A minute later, after a leisurely kiss, she says, "I'm hungry."  
  
He grins. "Why am I not surprised? We could go out. Or order room service."  
  
"Let's stay here."  
  
"Okay. I'll find the menu," he starts glancing around the room. "What are you in the mood for?"  
  
She gives him a mischievous smile and runs her hand between his legs. "Sausage." She starts to giggle as she adds, "After all, breakfast foods are the best."  
  
He bursts out laughing, and she joins him.  
  
"God," she says. "I really need to work on my sexy talk."  
  
"Not at all." He props himself up, leaning over her. "It's perfect. Perfectly Leslie—and that's perfect enough for me."  
  
He lowers himself to kiss her again, and pretty soon all thoughts of food are forgotten—at least for another hour.  
  
*  
  
In the morning they spend an hour making very good use of the over-sized jetted tub that came with their overpriced room, and as they snuggle in the now lukewarm water Leslie says, "I don't want to go home yet."  
  
Ben pulls her a little closer, and kisses her temple. "That's up to you. You're the one with the busy campaign schedule. What's on your calendar for this afternoon?"  
  
"Ummm." She lays her head back against his shoulder. "Just some canvassing. Good old door-to-door. But there's five other volunteers signed up. Maybe Ann would take charge for me, just this once."  
  
Ben grins. "Well, considering the message of that mix CD she made for us, I'm guessing she'd approve of your excuse for skipping out on her."  
  
"Okay. I'll call her. Do you think they'll give us the room another night?"  
  
"I'll take care of it." He kisses her neck.  
  
"Good. But we have to head back first thing in the morning."  
  
"Okay. First thing." He kisses along her shoulder.  
  
She squirms. "You need to shave—you're getting scratchy."  
  
"It can wait." It doesn't take much to get her to agree with him.  
  
*  
  
Ben doesn't much like leaving the comfort of their hotel at 6 am, but when Leslie says first thing, she means first thing.  
  
They make good time, and it's just 7:30 when they pull up to her house. Ben gets her bag out of the van and follows her to the door.  
  
"So you'll be over tonight?" she asks, as she unlocks the door.  
  
"Eight o'clock sharp." He wraps his free arm around her waist as she turns back to face him.  
  
"I can't wait," she replies, and he leans in for a kiss.  
  
That's when the flash of a camera makes him jerk his head back in surprise and two young men in business-casual clothes (one of them armed with the camera) come dashing across the lawn toward them.  
  
"Candidate Knope!" shouts one of the men. "Daniel Thompson—Pawnee Journal. It seems that you've been out of town all weekend with your male friend here. Do you care to identify him for us?"  
  
Leslie's eyes widen in alarm. "No comment! No comment!" She pulls Ben inside with her, and slams the door behind them. "Crap on a pancake!"  
  
If she's cursing on breakfast foods, it's got to be bad.  
  
*  
  
"Yes, Ann!" Leslie shouts into her phone as she paces the living room. "Just call in sick and get over here. I need you. That stupid reporter is still camped out in my front yard!"  
  
Ben sighs. It's been fifteen minutes of this—pacing, cursing, and trying to dial Ann. She must've been in the shower, or something. She didn't pick up the first fourteen times.  
  
"I still think one of us should go out there and talk to him," he says. "I mean, we weren't going to keep this a secret, remember?"  
  
"I know, I know," says Leslie, lowering her phone. "But we weren't going to go trumpeting it to the press, either. Okay. Ann's on the way. She'll help us figure it out. Maybe I should call William—he's great at this PR stuff."   
  
William Barnes—one of the citizens who'd recruited Leslie to run for mayor in the first place, is no favorite of Ben's. Oh, the man is a competent campaign advisor, and he did help set Leslie on the path of following her dream. But he was also, inadvertently, the cause of their 7-plus month long separation. Ben can't help but hold a little bit of grudge over that.   
  
"Are you sure? I really think we can handle it—"  
  
"No, Ben! We've already taken the official stance of _no comment_. To go out and start talking now will make us look like weak-minded flip-floppers."  
  
She paces a little more.  
  
"Well," says Ben, leaning back into his armchair, "maybe we can write up an official statement for Barnes to issue to the press for us?"  
  
Leslie halts her pacing and points at him. "Yes! Yes. Great idea. Okay. Let's write an official statement. How do we spin this?"  
  
Ben closes his eyes and dredges through his memories of writing prepared statements for meetings and press releases. He's actually done quite a lot of this sort of thing over the years—he's only dismal with the press when they start delving into his personal life. Which this technically is. So why doesn't he feel like having a nervous breakdown?  
  
Because this is something he's not ashamed of, he realizes. This isn't something he wants to hide from.  
  
"We don't need to spin it," he says firmly. "We tell the truth—that we're in a committed and loving relationship, and we're both very dismayed that members of the press chose to pry into our personal lives, which have no relevance to the ongoing campaign."  
  
The look of anxiety on Leslie's face softens into something much more hopeful. "That's really good. I like it. I really like it. Okay. Let's write it down so I can email it to William. He can come be our spokesman with that little poop-faced reporter out there."  
  
Ben smiles as she sits in the chair next to him. This looks like this just might work.  
  
*  
  
Barnes does an admirable job delivering their prepared statement to the reporter—Thompson—while Ann manages to calm Leslie down a little more.  
  
Things get dicey again, however, when Barnes comes inside to join them. He insists on a private meeting with Leslie in the spare bedroom on the main floor—which happens to have a very thin door. Ben can hear every word of Barnes berating Leslie for choosing now, of all times, to have a fling with her ex-boss.  
  
Okay. No one gets to talk to Leslie like this. Ben clenches his jaw and rises to follow them when Ann gestures for him to stop. "Give her a minute," says Ann. "She'll straighten him out. Trust me."  
  
Ben takes a deep breath to calm himself, and nods. Ann's seen Leslie handle tight situations a lot more often than he has. Maybe she knows what she's talking about. But if things don't take a turn for the better soon, Barnes had better watch out.  
  
Fortunately, Leslie raises her voice. "I understand your concerns, William. However, this is not just a fling. This is the real thing. I am in love with that man, and he is a part of my life from here on out. That's not negotiable. If the people of Pawnee aren't ready to deal with a female mayor with a boyfriend, so be it. He's part of the package. Period."  
  
Yes, yes, yes! God, he thought what she said over the weekend was good. This—this is more than he ever hoped for.  
  
Barnes sputters a few more weak arguments, but Leslie shuts him down every time. Ann catches Ben's eye and raises her eyebrows with an obvious "I told you so," expression on her face. He's glad Ann is finally in his corner—if she wasn't, he's pretty sure he'd never have gotten this far with Leslie.  
  
A minute later Leslie and Barnes reemerge from the spare room. Barnes glowers at Ben a little, but keeps his opinions to himself. They have a hurried conference to confirm that issuing the same prepared statement to other inquiring members of the press will be their official position, followed by "no comment" to any other questions. Then Barnes verifies that the reporter and his photographer side-kick have officially left the area, and he and Ann leave.  
  
Leslie closes the door behind them, and leans against it with a sigh. "What now?"  
  
Ben stands beside her and pushes her hair back from her weary face. "Now we both go to work. We act normal. If we hide out, or avoid our normal activities, that reporter and all his reporter friends will think we have some scandal to hide. And we don't. Do we?"  
  
Her mouth curves into a faint smile. "No. We don't."  
  
"Okay, then. I'll go unload the van back at my place and return it to the rental lot. And you'll change and go into the office. And everything will be fine. This is just a bump in the road. We'll get past it." He squeezes her hand.  
  
"Yeah. We'll get past it. What am I worried about?" She forces the confidence back into her voice. "People our age date. It's normal. The voters will understand that. No scandals here. We'll be fine." Her nerves are showing. But, for once, she doesn't seem at all inclined to run away. She's staying strong. She's standing by him. God, that feels good.  
  
He kisses her goodbye, and heads out for the day, convinced that they've already braved the worst.  
  
*  
  
Although Tom and Jean-Ralphio tease Ben a little about his romantic weekend getaway when he gets to the office, they soon get back to business as usual with Ben hiding away to go over the budget for an upcoming corporate video shoot they're doing for Sweetums, and the others having one of their "brainstorming sessions" in front of their entertainment center.  
  
A little before 4:30, Tiffany comes into Ben's office with a concerned look on her face. "There's something you need to come see," she says.  
  
Ben raises his eyebrows. "What?"  
  
"Just—come." She gestures toward the executive office, and Ben follows. His intuition tells him that something very not right is going on—and it's probably not work related.  
  
He's proven right when he finds Tom and Jean-Ralphio staring gravely at the paused image of Pawnee Today, with Joan Callamezzo sitting across from none other than cub reporter Daniel Thompson.  
  
"I think you need to see this, man," says Tom, sounding more serious than Ben has heard him since he first started tackling E-720's finances so many months ago. Tom pushes play.  
  
 _"Welcome back to Pawnee Today,"_ says Joan, brightly. _"Joining me now is Daniel Thompson, here to give us an exclusive preview of his exciting new article that will appear in the Pawnee Journal tomorrow morning. I understand you've uncovered some scandalous news about popular mayoral candidate, Leslie Knope."_  
  
"Oh, god." Ben groans. Why, why, why does Pawnee just happen to have _the_ most intrusive and gossip-driven local media of any small city in the United States?  
  
 _"That's right, Joan,"_ replies Thompson. _"Ms. Knope, who also just happens to be Deputy Director of the Parks Department for Pawnee City, is already known to be a favorite of the gay community here in Pawnee. And she's just taken another step to further alienating the more conservative voters of our city. Apparently, she spent this past weekend in Indianapolis on a sexy getaway with a local businessman."_  
  
"Oh boy," Ben mutters. Barnes is going _love_ this. How did Thompson manage to spin their sensible prepared statement into something this tawdry?  
  
 _"Oh, my,"_ replied Joan, tittering. _"That certainly won't endear her to many voters, will it? Is Leslie Knope turning into Pawnee's next Councilman Dexhart?"_  
  
"What?" exclaims Ben in outrage. "How does this even compare to Dexhart? How?"  
  
 _"She just may be,"_ says Thompson, a snide tone in his voice. _"I've uncovered evidence that Ms. Knope's paramour has deep ties inside City Hall. This scandal could go all the way to the top."_  
  
 _"Ooo. Exciting stuff,"_ says Joan. _"I can't wait to read your article. Is there anything else you can share with us today? Maybe the name of this mystery lover?"_  
  
Daniel laughs with a condescending tone. _"For that one, I'm afraid you'll just have to wait for your paper tomorrow. But, I will give your viewers a sneak peak at an exclusive picture our photographer captured just this morning."_  
  
 _"Let's bring that right up,"_ says Joan, a triumphant gleam in her eyes.  
  
Just as Ben expects, a picture of him kissing Leslie on her front stoop suddenly fills the television screen. He closes his eyes and rubs his forehead. He can already feel a headache coming on.  
  
 _"Racy stuff,"_ Joan says gleefully. _"To get the full story, be sure to pick up the Pawnee Journal tomorrow morning, and read Daniel Thompson's full article. Thanks so much for joining me today, Daniel! I'm sure we'll be hearing more big things from you in the future."_  
  
 _"I'm sure you will, Joan."_  
  
Tom shuts off the TV. "Dude. This sucks. I thought Joan was our friend."  
  
Ben shakes his head. "Joan's been out to get Leslie for ages. She couldn't pass up an opportunity like this. Damn it. I've got some phone calls to make."  
  
"Is there anything we can do to help?" asks Tiffany.  
  
Ben squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. Then he nods. "Yeah. There is." He strides over to the whiteboard hanging on one wall, erases the list of random ideas there, and writes out the same official statement that Barnes used that morning. (He already has it memorized.) "If any reporters call or stop by, _this_ ," he points at the statement, "is all you tell them. If they pester you for anything more, you switch to _no comment_. Got it?"  
  
Tiffany, Tom, and Jean-Ralphio all nod in agreement.  
  
"If there's anything else we can do, dude, just let us know," says Tom.  
  
"Thanks. I will."   
  
Ben strides back to his office, shuts the door behind him, and dials Leslie.  
  
"Did you see it?" he asks when she picks up.  
  
"No—April just told me about it." Leslie sounds slightly panicked. (Clearly there's no need to define "it.") "Was it horrible?"  
  
"It could have been worse, but it's certainly not good. The word _scandal_ was thrown around a lot, and it sounds like that reporter dug up my history at city hall—not that it would have been too hard. I only quit four and a half months ago."  
  
"Crap, crap, crap." He can almost hear her pacing. "Okay. Time to rally the troops. I've got to call William and Ann and. . ." she starts listing her other key campaign volunteers. "It's time to do some serious damage control. If only I knew exactly what's in that article. I wonder if someone could hack into the Pawnee Journal and steal an advance copy for me?"  
  
Yep. She's definitely panicking. "I don't think we know any computer hackers. And even if we did, it wouldn't be ethical."  
  
"This article isn't ethical!" she shouts.  
  
"And you're not sinking to Thompson's level. Right?"  
  
He hears her sigh. "Right," she admits. Good.  
  
"Okay. Do you want me to come to your place now, or should I wait until after the business day? I could pick up some take-out for everyone—"  
  
"No. I don't know. Maybe you should just go home. This shouldn't have to be your problem. We'll figure it out."  
  
This is not good. Leslie in panic mode always tries to hide or run away first, before confronting things. And it sounds like, at the moment, their new relationship is one of the things she wants to hide from. After all, it's what started this media mess in the first place.  
  
He's about to grudgingly agree to stay away when he snaps to his senses and clenches his teeth. No! This is what happened last time. He let her take the lead and make all the decisions. And this mess is _not_ the fault of their relationship. It's the fault of Pawnee's out of control press. And he's not going to let them win.  
  
"Leslie—I'm coming. I think that handling the fall out of this article is one of those _big decisions_ we talked about over the weekend. And we agreed to make these decisions together. Remember?"  
  
"Right. Yes. Of course. I'm sorry. This has really thrown me for a loop. I'm sorry. Of course you should come. And food would be great." Good. He got through to her faster than he expected.  
  
"Five o'clock, your place?" he asks.  
  
"Yep. I'm heading out right now."  
  
They hang up. Time to go to work.  
  
*  
  
It's closer to 5:15 when Ben finally gets to Leslie's place, loaded down with large quantities of Chinese takeout and a double order of J.J.s waffles with extra whipped cream just for Leslie. The way her eyes light up when she sees them makes the extra stop totally worth the trouble.  
  
The other key members of the campaign show up over the course of the next hour, and they dive into the Chinese food and the ongoing rant-session about the local media with equal enthusiasm. But by 6:30, while the Chinese food is gone, no real progress has been made on the press situation. It doesn't help matters any that Leslie's phone is ringing non-stop, and most of the calls are from other members of the press. After the first half hour, Ben takes her phone away and sets it on vibrate. He only answers if he recognizes a call from a friend. Voicemail can handle everything else.   
  
Unsurprisingly, the most persistent caller is none other than Shauna Malwae-Tweep. Even after Leslie's first prepared statement/no comment answers to Shauna, the dogged report continues to call back every twenty or thirty minutes. Ben starts to wonder if the woman will ever give up.  
  
William Barnes doesn't arrive until after seven o'clock, at which point the discussion has already devolved into talk of finding Daniel Thompson's house and egging it. (Ben voices his objections to the plan, but unfortunately April has latched onto the idea and continues pushing it—she also advocates keying Thompson's car. Ben is seriously starting to worry that the next troublesome headline in the Pawnee Journal will be "Knope Campaign Implicated in Revenge Vandalism.")  
  
"William! Thank god you're here," says Leslie when Barnes finally walks in. "We've got to stop this article. Maybe we could pay them not to run it—?"  
  
Barnes waves his hands and shakes his head. "No. No bribery, Leslie—remember, we already talked about this?"  
  
Leslie nods glumly, and Ben wonders who the last person she wanted to bribe was. He almost feels grateful for Barnes, at that point. Almost.  
  
"Okay, listen up everybody," says Barnes, cutting off April before she launches into further elaborations of her vandalism scheme. "I've been talking to an insider at the Pawnee Journal who's read the article. And just as we feared, the article definitively identifies Mr. Wyatt here." Barnes glances across the room at Ben, scowling. So Ben glares right back. This situation is hardly his fault.  
  
"It also," Barnes goes on, "points out the fact that until a few months ago, Mr. Wyatt was Leslie's boss, and that as of a few weeks ago he was hired as a private financial consultant by City Council, with Leslie's enthusiastic endorsement. This is not looking good for us."  
  
Everyone falls silent. For once, Ben agrees with Barnes. When the facts are presented like that, they do look pretty damning. How the hell are they supposed to explain to the public that there really was no favoritism or cronyism at work without laying bare the private details of their rather complex relationship? Even then, it would be hard for some people to swallow.  
  
"So what do we do?" Leslie asks plaintively.  
  
The damn bursts and everyone starts babbling again. (April is now demanding the chance to break into Thompson's house to taint his food with laxatives). That's when Ben's phone rings. It's Tom.  
  
With a sigh, Ben steps into the kitchen to answer. He needs a break from the tense insanity in the other room. "Hey—what's up?"  
  
"Ben Wyatt?" says a female voice.  
  
"Yeah? Who's this?" And why is some stranger using Tom's phone? For a heart-stopping moment, Ben pictures Tom lying dead in the road at the scene of a traffic accident, with a female paramedic dialing Ben to come identify the body.  
  
Then she speaks again. "This is Shauna Malwae-Tweep of the Pawnee Journal."   
  
Fuck. "Why are you on Tom's phone?"  
  
"Leslie wasn't answering her phone, and I was afraid if I called from my own number, you wouldn't answer either. Tom let me borrow his phone to call you after I agreed to go on a date with him."  
  
Ben is seriously going to ring Tom's neck. "Good-bye," he snarls.  
  
"Wait—don't hang up! I want to help you!"  
  
Ben's eyebrows shoot up. "Help me? Hasn't the Pawnee Journal helped me enough already this week?"  
  
"Just hear me out. I want to do an article from your point of view—yours and Leslie's. To get _your_ side of the story, not just gossip and hearsay," says Shauna, earnestly.  
  
Ben rubs his forehead. It's an interesting offer, but how does he know he can trust her. "Why? What's in it for you?"  
  
He can hear the venom dripping in her voice when she replies. "City Hall has been my exclusive beat for three and a half years. _Three and a half years!_ And now that little weasel, Thompson, thinks he can push me out with one political scandal. No way in hell am I letting that happen. That little sleaze is going down."  
  
Wow. This is unexpected. Maybe they have an ally in the press, after all. But he can't make this decision alone. "I'll consider your offer, and get back to you," he says. "It might be a little while."  
  
"I can wait. But not too long. We'll already miss the deadline for tomorrow's paper, but we can make Wednesday if you get back to me soon enough."  
  
"Okay. I'll be in touch."  
  
Ben hangs up and strides back to the front room.  
  
"I'm telling you," Barnes is saying, most of the other conversation finally quelled, "this has Gunderson written all over it. We already traced the reemergence of the gay-penguin story and leak about your run-in with the Eagleton police to Gunderson's office. The man is determined to play dirty."  
  
Leslie nods grimly. "So do you think it's time we pull out your file?"  
  
"I do," replies Barnes. "It's time to start fighting fire with fire. He's left us no choice. We'll have to turn to the file."  
  
"Wait a minute," says Ben, confused. "What file?"  
  
Leslie looks up at him. "William's been putting together a file of all of Gunderson's dirty laundry for a few years now." Barnes nods in agreement. "If they're going to start slinging mud at us, it's probably time to start slinging it back."  
  
Leslie looks depressed as hell when she says those words. All the light has gone out of her eyes. No. This is wrong. This is not the woman he fell in love with. This is Barnes, worming his way into her brain. Ben has to put a stop to this.  
  
"So you have to sink to his level to beat him?" says Ben. "Is that what you've been telling her?" He glares at Barnes.  
  
"Politics is a dirty game, but sometimes you just have to play it," says Barnes, narrowing his eyes at Ben.  
  
"No. You don't." Ben sets his jaw. "And don't presume to lecture me on how dirty politics can be—I know from personal experience." He remembers with crystal clarity the names and faces of every single person who lifted him up on his meteoric rise to power in Partridge who turned around and stabbed him in the back a few months later. He knows _exactly_ how dirty local politics can be.  
  
"Look," Ben surveys the group before him. "There are other options. There are other ways to do this. Back when I was elected mayor of my hometown, the incumbent I ran against was just as entrenched as Gunderson, and just as dirty. But I ran a clean campaign, focusing on the positive. Instead of digging in the muck, I focused on the hopes and promises of the future. And it worked. I kicked his butt. Optimism and positivity can beat mud-slinging any day, and I have never met anyone more optimistic and positive than Leslie Knope." He locks eyes with her. "You don't have to sink to his level. Instead, you need to rise above it."  
  
The corners of her lips start to turn up, and some of the light comes back into her eyes.  
  
But then Barnes has to open his mouth again. "I'm not sure we should be taking the advice of a man who managed to get himself impeached two months after taking office."  
  
His words feel like a punch in the gut, but Ben steels himself and fights back. "I may have been a crappy mayor—actually, there's no _may have been_ about it. I _was_ a crappy mayor. But I also ran a kick-ass campaign. So when it comes this side of the election, yes—I really _do_ know what I'm talking about. How many campaigns have _you_ won, William?"  
  
Andy and April look like they're holding back laughter, Ann's mouth hangs open in shock, and Leslie's eyes are wide with confusion. Barnes rises slowly to his feet. He sends one more nasty look in Ben's direction, and then turns to Leslie. "This only reconfirms my opinion that bringing _this man_ back into your life is a mistake."  
  
Leslie's eyes flick from Barnes to Ben and back. Ben bites his tongue to hold back any further words. This is her turn. She needs to make her choice, once and for all.  
  
She takes a deep breath. "Maybe, maybe not. But either way, my choice is already made. I'm with Ben. On everything. Leave the file in your briefcase. I won't sink to that level."  
  
Ben lets out his breath slowly. Everything is going to be all right.  
  
"And that means no vandalism, either, April," says Leslie. "We're taking the high road on this one, people. Got it?" She looks back up at Barnes. "So are you in, or are you out?"  
  
Barnes remains silent, and shakes his head, but he sits back down. It seems that for now, at least, he'll follow Leslie's lead.  
  
"Okay, people," she says. "I guess we're just going to let the article run. No protests—no attempts to stop it—no public fighting about it. And we'll just continue to spread the same positive messages that we've been campaigning on from the start. Because they've been working. And they'll keep on working. Unless they don't."  
  
"Leslie," says Ann in a warning voice, reaching out to squeeze Leslie's hand.  
  
"But they will!" concludes Leslie, brightly.  
  
"I do have one other possibility," says Ben. "Shauna Malwae-Tweep managed to get through on my phone. I was just going to hang up, but she told me that reporter, Thompson, is trying to steal her City Hall beat out from under her, and she's pretty pissed. She offered to interview us—to do a story from our point of view. What do you think?"  
  
"I don't know," says Leslie. "Shauna's been pretty fair with me in the past, but she's still a reporter. She'd rather have the sensational story than the truth."  
  
"I think you should wait until after Thompson's article runs tomorrow," says Barnes softly. "Wait and gauge the public reaction. If things are pretty bad, consider Shauna's proposal. If the fall-out isn't too bad, there's no need to draw even more attention with another article."  
  
Ben nods. "Good call. Leslie?"  
  
"Okay. So now—we just wait?" That last word sounds like something filthy as it rolls off her tongue. And Ben supposes that for Leslie _waiting_ is just about the worst torture she can face. But in this case, they don't have much choice.  
  
"Yep. Now we wait," he replies.  
  
"Crap."  
  
*  
  
After everyone leaves, Ben does his best to ease Leslie's tension with some ice cream, a warm bath, and some leisurely love-making. It mostly works, but he knows nothing will completely keep her mind off of the article tonight.  
  
"Do you want me to stay over?" he asks as they lie in her bed. He only rarely spent the night the first time they were dating, but he doesn't want to fall back into that pattern.  
  
He's relieved when she says yes. "After all, if more reporters ambush us in the morning, it's not like they'd be seeing anything they didn't already know," she says. It's not the resounding affirmative he'd hoped for, but at least she wants him to stay.  
  
They both skip through their phone messages before calling it a night. Ben hasn't answered his phone since the call from Shauna, in case any other reporters copied he trick. He is heartened to find messages from Crystal, Missy, Layla, Tiffany, DeAnne and even Jean-Ralphio and Tom expressing their support and offering to help in any way they can. After finishing the last message he turns off his phone and smiles at Leslie.  
  
She sighs. "Mine was mostly full of more reporters. But there were a few positive messages from supporters, too. How about you?"  
  
"Mine were mostly supporters with just a few reporters," he says.  
  
"Show off." She smacks him playfully on the arm. "Maybe _you_ should be running for mayor."  
  
"No. I'm sure it's just that most of the reporters haven't tracked down my cell number yet. Once they do, I'm in for it."  
  
"Yeah. I'm sure that's it." She snuggles against him, and they are quiet for a minute. "I'm scared," she says in a small voice.  
  
"I know. But we'll get through this. I'm here for you, every step of the way."  
  
"I love you."  
  
"I love you, too."  
  
God he hopes this pseudo-scandal doesn't ruin her chances. Her pain is his pain. If only he could find a way to help more.  
  
Leslie, still restless, turns on a late night marathon of Modern Marvels episodes on the History Channel, and beside her Ben drifts off to sleep, still pondering ways to help while keeping the campaign positive and upbeat.  
  
*  
  
When he wakes up in the morning, Leslie is already up. Of course. He hopes she got at least a little sleep. The last thing she needs right now is another sleep-deprivation-induced-breakdown like when they were fixing Missy's house.  
  
And that's when it hits him. The way to fight back against the bad press without wading in the muck. The way to keep the campaign positive.  
  
It's a brilliant idea, and he can't wait to share it. He hops out of bed and pulls on his pants before heading downstairs.  
  
Leslie sits on the front room wearing tattered sweats, hunched over a copy of the Pawnee Journal. Uh oh. This doesn't look good. "Hey," he says cautiously. "Are you all right?"  
  
"No," she moans. "It's even worse than we thought it would be. I could strangle that turd-faced little twit! I should have let April key his car. Or slash his tires. Ugh!" Ben assumes she's referring to Thompson.  
  
"What's the bad news?" He sinks down beside her.  
  
She shakes her head, limps strands of hair falling forward over her face. "He insists you only got that consultant work with the city because of my endorsement. Which is totally not true. You made a hell of a convincing case, and _earned_ that job."  
  
He nods in silent agreement, glad to hear the confirmation.  
  
"And worse," she goes on, "he sites _anonymous_ sources who say we were together for months before you quit, and goes on and on about us using City Hall as our personal love nest. I know my mom, Ron, and Ann never would have ratted us out. It must have been that maintenance man!"  
  
Ben shrugs. "Or it could have been anyone from City Hall who supports Gunderson and saw us around together a lot making up some slander. You've got to admit, we really weren't that sneaky."  
  
"I know." Leslie pushes her hair back from her faces, and sniffles a little. "And all this is making me realize that this story could have come out no matter what. Why did I break up with you in the first place and put us both through all those months of hell when the scandal was just sitting there, waiting to come out anyway? I'm such an idiot!"  
  
"Hey, hey." Ben wraps an arm around her. "We're leaving the past in the past, remember? It's not going to be that bad. I came up with an idea that I think will bounce the campaign right back from this."  
  
"What? What can possibly make up for this?" She gestures disgustedly down at the newspaper.  
  
"We call Shauna Malwae-Tweep," he says.  
  
Her brows knit. "And give her an interview?"  
  
"Better than that. We'll give her the names and phone numbers of every single person in Pawnee who you've helped. Everyone you've fought for, and encouraged, and defended. Instead of defending ourselves, or tooting your own horn, we'll let all the people who respect and admire you tell your story for you. Like character witnesses in a trial. What do you think?"  
  
His idea earns him Leslie's first smile of the day. "I think it's a great idea."  
  
He grins back at her, and grips her hand in his. "Awesome. Let's bust out our address books and make a list to get to Shauna."  
  
From Missy to Andy, from the science teachers consulting on the observatory project to volunteer coaches from the whiffle ball league, they compile a list of more than 40 names for Shauna to call. Then Ben calls her.  
  
"So you're finally coming to your senses?" Shauna asks as soon as she answers.  
  
"This is off the record," says Ben. "Consider me an anonymous source."  
  
"Fine. But that won't do you much good. You need to come out swinging, or Thompson's article will stand as the story of record."  
  
"I don't think so. I've got a list of people you need to talk to. Just ask them what they know about Leslie Knope, and they'll give you the story you need. Plus, you need to talk to the members of City Council. I guarantee that they'll say Leslie's endorsement is _not_ why they voted to hire me. Thompson has it all wrong."  
  
"We'll see," replies Shauna.  
  
Ben gets her email to send her the list of names and numbers, and then hangs up. "Okay. It's out of our hands now," he says after sending the email. "Back to the waiting game."  
  
Leslie groans. "I hate waiting."  
  
"Don't we all?"  
  
*  
  
They both go to work, and when Ben gets to the office, only Tiffany is in.  
  
"Don't ask me where they are," she says. "They sent me some texts about a _mystery gig_ that they claim to be working today. I have no idea what's up."  
  
Ben sighs. He hopes whatever they're up to doesn't cost too much money. After all they put out on the Ultimate Party Tent, they're running on a pretty tight budget right now.  
  
Not much later he gets a call from Chris.  
  
"Is it true?" asks Chris. "Are you and our wonderful Leslie Knope really dating?"  
  
This was inevitable, really. Time to bite the bullet and confess. "Yeah. We are."  
  
"That's wonderful!" says Chris, unexpectedly.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yes! You two always made such a great team. It's fantastic that you've taken that relationship to the next level."  
  
Ben smiles. He should have known that Chris would see the positive in all this mess. That's why he likes the guy so much. "Thanks. Yeah—I'm really happy. _We're_ really happy. Except for this whole press debacle."  
  
"It's ridiculous. I don't understand why they can't leave you alone to enjoy your relationship in privacy. After all, there is nothing whatsoever unethical about your relationship now that you're no longer her supervisor. And I don't for an instant believe those absurd rumors about you sneaking around City Hall together before you quit."  
  
Ben grits his teeth. He's lied for long enough about this. "Chris, to be honest, there were romantic sparks between Leslie and me before I quit. And for a short time at the beginning of the year, we gave in and acted on those feelings. We knew it was wrong, but we did it anyway. And I'm sorry for deceiving you. But we ended it a few months before I quit, and we didn't get back together until after I got the consulting job. Please don't discipline Leslie for this—she's being punished enough by the press." He rushes through the confession, knowing full well that he's putting a more positive spin on things than he should.  
  
Chris is quiet for several seconds before finally replying. "I confess that I am shocked. I've noticed that Leslie has a propensity for impulsive and undisciplined behavior from time to time, but I never would have guessed that _you_ , Benjamin, would ever do such a thing."  
  
Now Ben feels like a total jerk. "I know. And I'm really sorry for lying to you. You're my friend, and I shouldn't have hidden this from you. I'm sorry."  
  
"It's all right. I forgive you."  
  
That was fast. "Really?"  
  
"Really. I value our friendship too highly to hold this against you now that you've apologized. And Leslie is literally one of the most valuable employees in City Hall. It would be foolish of me to punish her for a misdeed she ended months and months ago. Not to mention that I—well—I've started to reevaluate my stance on interoffice romance since the lovely Ann Perkins came to work at City Hall."  
  
Ben grins. He'd been so caught up in his own romantic troubles that he'd barely noticed that Chris didn't seem to be dating anyone—and Chris was almost _always_ dating. Now he knew why. "You and Ann? I thought that was history."  
  
"Sometimes history repeats itself. I've come to appreciate her in many new ways since we rekindled our friendship. And, for some time now, I've been considering the possibility of breaking my own rule. It would be hypocritical of me to punish Leslie for the very thing I've been wanting to do myself."  
  
Ben wishes Chris good luck with Ann, and Chris offers any help he can give to Ben and Leslie. Naturally, Ben gives him Shauna's phone number.   
  
Things are looking better and better for the article.  
  
*  
  
Just before 4 o'clock, Ben gets a text from Tom telling him to watch Pawnee Today. "Me and Jean-Ralphio are about to save your ass, dude," it says. Ben feels a knot of anxiety clench in his stomach. What exactly are they going to do?  
  
He calls Leslie. "Yeah—I got a text, too. I'm heading for a TV right now."  
  
They stay on the line together as they both settle down in front of televisions to see what the boys of E-720 have in store.  
  
They don't have to wait long—Tom and Jean-Ralphio come on for the very first segment. After Tom exchanges his usual flirtatious banter with Joan, they get down to business.  
  
 _"So, I hear that the two of you have some new information to share regarding the scandalous affair between mayoral candidate Leslie Knope and her former boss, Ben Wyatt. What can you share with us, today?"_  
  
Ben's stomach lurches, and he mutters to Leslie, "This is either going to be very very good, or very very bad."  
  
"God I hope Tom knows what he's doing," she replies.  
  
 _"Well, Joan,"_ says Tom, _"in the interest of full disclosure, I should first mention that Ben Wyatt currently works as the Chief Financial Officer of our multi-media and event planning conglomerate, Entertainment 720. And that you recently hired our company to run an important event for you. And you worked closely with Ben on several occasions during the planning process. Isn't that right?"_  
  
Joan shifts her weight, looking down uncomfortably. _"Yes. That's correct."_  
  
 _"And we rocked your house with our party, didn't we?"_ adds Jean-Ralphio.  
  
Joan clears her throat. _"Yes. It was a very successful event. Thank you."_  
  
"Perfect," says Leslie. "They've just demolished any pretense of objectivity she may have had. Good for Tom!"  
  
 _"Now, back to Ben and Leslie,"_ says Tom. _"This is not some tawdry affair, Joan. And Leslie is no Councilman Dexhart, thank god. Ben and Leslie are just a couple of crazy kids in love. So maybe their love struck at a politically inconvenient time—so what? Are we going to punish them for being normal human beings, looking for happiness and fulfillment in a lasting monogamous relationship? I don't think so."_  
  
 _"Aren't we all just looking for someone to share our lives with?"_ answers Jean-Ralphio. _"If a hottie like Leslie wanted to get serious with_ me, _I wouldn't wait until after some election, either. I'd snatch her right up. Seize the day."_  
  
Joan arches an eyebrow. _"If this is really a serious monogamous relationship, as you claim, then why is your associate, Ben Wyatt, reported to be very often in the company of several women in the adult entertainment industry?"_  
  
"Crap," mutters Leslie. Ben can't help but agree with her. This one is tougher to explain.  
  
Tom rolls his eyes. _"Yes, Ben is friends with some strippers. So what? He's not dating them—they're just pals. He's even helped a few of them get new, more mainstream, jobs, and he's helped one get into a school to train for a new career. But he doesn't judge them. He just treats them with the respect every human being deserves. And Leslie is friendly with them, too. To paraphrase the great Martin Luther King Jr., Ben and Leslie judge people by the content of their character—not by what they do for a living."_  
  
Joan's grin is strained. Clearly this isn't the interview she was hoping to get. _"Fascinating stuff. But what about the suggestions that their affair began while Ben Wyatt was still working as Leslie Knope's boss? Surely that violates government ethics?"_  
  
 _"Leslie and Ben are the most ethical people I know,"_ insists Jean-Ralphio. Ben doesn't doubt it.  
  
 _"Seriously, Joan,"_ says Tom. _"That Daniel Thompson dude has you barking up the wrong tree. There's nothing to see here. If those two were sneaking around, making out in City Hall, it would have been back when I still worked there. I notice this sort of thing—trust me. And I didn't notice anything going on between those two other than friendship."_  
  
"Good thing Tom doesn't notice as much as he thinks he does," Ben says to Leslie.  
  
Jean-Ralphio leans toward Joan. _"Come here, let me tell you something. Come here."_ Joan sits further back in her chair. _"Okay—you're fine there. The bottom line is, Joan, that when Tommy and me were trying to get our own business started, and no one believed in us, Leslie gave us our first gig. And then Ben left his cushy government job to take a chance on our dream. Those two were there for us when no one else was, and we couldn't have made Entertainment 720 work without them."_  
  
Tom nods in agreement. _"And they're like that with everyone—and with every project they take on. If they believe in someone or something, they'll work their asses off to make sure it succeeds. That's just the kind of people they are. So I don't care what Thompson says—they're good people, and Leslie deserves to be the next mayor of Pawnee."_  
  
Ben can't stop grinning as Joan hastily wraps up the interview.  
  
"Wow," says Leslie. "I never thought they had it in them. But that was amazing."  
  
Ben can't believe he ever thought he'd regret going to work for Tom. He doesn't regret one damn thing.  
  
Ten minutes later he gets a new text from Tom. "If that doesn't get me a date with one of the Glitter Factory girls, I don't know what will."  
  
After he stops laughing, Ben texts back: "If I can, I'll help set you up." Who knows—maybe Tom is growing up a little. And Layla's gotten pretty used to him. Maybe she'll give him a chance.   
  
*  
  
Wednesday morning Ben and Leslie both get up before dawn to wait for the morning paper, and they race for the door to get to it first. Ben manages to scoop it up before Leslie, but they sit snuggled close on the couch to read it together.  
  
The headline reads: "What Scandal? Meet Pawnee's Super-Couple, Leslie Knope and Ben Wyatt."  
  
It only gets better from there. The article is filled with anecdotes of Leslie's devoted service to Pawnee and its citizens, with quotes from dozens of unrelated sources. There's even a surprising number of positive quotes about Ben—from Missy, DeAnne, and Crystal.  
  
Shauna also followed up with City Council, and they all confirmed that they cast their votes to hire him based on the merits of his proposal, rather than on Leslie's recommendation.  
  
The article ends with a quote from Crystal, saying, _"Ben and Leslie are two of the best, most giving people I've ever known. And that's all there is to it. She's got my vote."_  
  
After they finish reading, they sit staring at each other with silly grins on their faces.  
  
"I think we might just pull this off," says Leslie.  
  
"Yeah. I think we might."  
  
She tosses the paper to the coffee table and musses his hair. "Wanna go have sex?"  
  
"Fuck yes."  
  
They race up the stairs—this time she beats him to the bedroom. But they both win.  
  
*  
  
The last two weeks before the election pass in a crazy blur of work. Leslie keeps busy with tons of last minute campaign activities, and Ben helps out whenever he can. But E-720 also has several events going. And, much to his surprise, after Tom's appearance on Pawnee Today and Shauna's article in the Pawnee Journal, he starts getting lots of calls from Pawnee businesses interested in working with Mobile-CFO. Apparently being called a good person who works his ass off for what he believes in is the best kind of word of mouth he can possibly get.  
  
In spite of their busy schedules, he spends as many nights as he can over at Leslie's place. So what if reporters still keep pestering Leslie about their relationship? Like she said—he's part of the package now. And it feels fucking amazing.  
  
A week before the election, Leslie puts in a strong showing at the one and only mayoral debate. She gets slightly flustered a few times, but holds it together. And when Gunderson makes a snide remark about her relationship with Ben, she gives him a stern gaze and retorts: "That's funny, Mr. Mayor. You had nothing but praise for Mr. Wyatt during his stint as a state auditor when he helped pull this city out of the financial sinkhole it fell into while under your stewardship. And you had nothing but praise for him while he continued to keep the city budget under control during his time as Assistant City Manager. But now that he's working in the private sector—and engaged in a personal relationship with your chief opponent in this election—you have nothing good to say about him. I find that very interesting."  
  
Damn, she's on fire.  
  
Gunderson does his best to deflect her comments, but the damage is already done. He doesn't bring up Ben—or anything else in Leslie's private life—again.  
  
That night, after a few celebratory drinks with the other key campaign volunteers, Ben takes Leslie home and starts calling her _Madame President_.   
  
They have the best sex they've had since their weekend in Indy.  
  
As they both lie basking in the afterglow, Leslie runs her fingers along his chest and says, "Remember how you told me you'd need to move out of April and Andy's place soon to get an apartment with a home office so you could run Mobile-CFO from home?"  
  
"Yeah?" He wonders where she's going with this.  
  
"Well—after the election I won't need to store campaign stuff in my spare room anymore. And I hardly ever have houseguests. We could get rid of the bed, and turn the room into an office."  
  
Ben grasps her hand and raises his head to look at her. "What are you saying?" He thinks he knows, but knowing how stubbornly independent Leslie is, and can hardly bring himself to believe it.  
  
She takes a deep breath. "I think we should live together. I want you to move in. I mean—if you want to—"  
  
Holy shit. She really _was_ saying what he thought she was saying. "Yes!" he bursts out. Then, more calmly, "Yes. I would really love to live with you."  
  
Her smile is suddenly shy—a direct contradiction to what they've just been doing. "Really?"  
  
He rolls to lean over her and runs his fingers through her hair. "Really, truly, god yes, I love you."  
  
"Good. Cause if you'd said no, I'd be feeling pretty stupid right now."  
  
All he can do is laugh. (And kiss her again. And again. And again . . .)  
  
*  
  
On election day, Leslie wants to go to the polling place as soon as it opens at 8 am, but Ben convinces her to wait until the slightly more reasonable (less desperate looking) hour of 9:30.  
  
There's no line (it's an off-year from federal elections, and turnout is expected to be small), but there are several members of the press there waiting to take pictures and video of the candidate casting her vote. Ben and Leslie wave and make a few superficial comments, but avoid any long interviews. Then they head to City Hall to wait out the rest of the day.  
  
Leslie manages to get some of her usual work done, and Ben gets started on the new project Chris has for him. But mostly they're just on pins and needles all day, along with their friends.  
  
That afternoon Ben gets a welcome phone call from Crystal to wish him well. It's the first time they've spoken since Shauna's article, and Ben thanks her for her kind words.  
  
"It was my pleasure," she says. "After all you did to help me and Davey, it was the least I could do. You know, I wasn't really surprised to find out about you and Leslie. I'd kind of suspected it for a while."  
  
"Did you?'  
  
"Yeah. You two seem to really fit together. I hope things work out this time. You really deserve to be happy."  
  
"Thanks. You too." And he really means it. He hopes that Crystal's school works out for her, and that she someday finds a better guy to love than Davey's dad. She's a good person, and deserves that happiness as much as anyone.  
  
"Oh, I'm sure I will be. I always manage. Especially with friends like you in my life. I'll see you around, Ben."  
  
"See you around."  
  
*  
  
After work, Ben and Leslie head back to her house. (Soon to be _their_ house, he can't help but think.)  
  
Gradually, most of their friends and campaign volunteers drift in bearing food and drink, and gather together around the television, waiting for election results. The polls close at 6:30, and results could be in before 8.  
  
A nervous tension fills the room, even as people share food and sip beer and crack jokes. Ben feels like they're all sitting on a ticking time-bomb, just waiting for it to explode.  
  
Perd Haply comes on at 7 to announce the winners of two of the 3 City Council seats. The final seat and the mayoral election are still too close to call.  
  
Leslie begins circling the room like a caged lion, while Ben tries to distract himself by talking shop with Tom and Jean-Ralphio. (They want to invest in new audio recording equipment to start offering their services as a recording studio. Ben thinks they're premature, since they don't even have a single committed client for that service yet.)  
  
At 7:30 Perd announces the winner of the 3rd City Council seat. But the mayoral race is still too close to call.  
  
Ben can't sit still anymore. He gets up and joins Leslie in her pacing.  
  
At 7:48 (Ben can't stop looking at the clock) Perd comes back on. All the votes are counted. _"And,"_ says Perd, _"by a margin of only 122 votes, the city of Pawnee has chosen it's new mayor. And that new mayor is also it's old mayor—Todd Gunderson."_  
  
Ben feels as if all the air has been sucked out of the room. He can't breathe. He can't hear. Everything is a vacuum.  
  
He turns to stare at Leslie where she stands a few feet away. Her expression is completely blank. "I need to go make a phone call," she says, and heads for the spare room.  
  
Fuck. A concession call. She's making a concession call. She just lost.  
  
Everyone in the room looks just as stunned as Ben feels. Andy and April start cursing about Gunderson. Ann starts fluttering around, tidying up. Barnes picks up his third beer of the night and chugs it down.  
  
Everyone is in shock. Except for Leslie.  
  
She comes out of the spare room with a smile on her face. "Well—I just called to congratulated Mayor Gunderson on his victory," she says. "He was very gracious, and says he looks forward to continuing to work with me in the Parks Department." Her voice wavers just a little, but she comes back strong on the next statement. "You guys have all been wonderful. You've put in amazing amounts of work over long hours, and this campaign has been one of the best experiences of my life—all because of you. My dear friends. Thank you, thank you, thank you. And don't feel disappointed—getting to know and love all of you better over the past year is victory enough for me. Now let's finish this food and drink some more beer and celebrate a hell of a good campaign, all right?"  
  
She manages to rouse a few cheers, and when she starts off the congratulatory toasts for all her volunteers, the mood of the whole room rises. Tom turns on some music, and soon the dispirited room turns into a party.   
  
Everyone laughs and drinks and eats for another few hours, genuinely celebrating their experience together. Ben (and probably Ann, he thinks) are the only ones to notice the signs of strain behind Leslie's smiling façade.  
  
Eventually everyone starts filtering out, and Leslie bids each and every one of them good-bye with a big hug. Ann is the last to go, making Leslie promise to call if she needs anything.  
  
It's only after they've all left and the music is shut off that she lets her smile fade. Ben leads her to the couch, pulls her down beside him and wraps his arms around her while she cries.  
  
She cries for a long time.  
  
He wishes this was a problem he could solve. That there was something he could say to make it all better. But he knows there isn't. So he just sits quietly, holding her while she weeps. And when her tears finally dry, he walks her upstairs and puts her to bed, and holds her all night, too.  
  
There's nothing more he can do.  
  
*  
  
Ben goes out early to bring home J.J.s waffles for breakfast. The morning is unseasonably warm, and they sit on a bench on the back porch to eat, watching the fall leaves drift down from the trees in the light breeze.  
  
When she finishes her waffles, Leslie sighs and snuggles into the crook of Ben's arm. "I put so much of myself into this election. I was so sure I was going to win. And now—I feel a little lost. I don't know what to do next."  
  
Ben's been thinking about this all morning, and he hopes his idea won't set off any more tears. "Well—I say you start gearing up for the next election cycle."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'm serious. There are two more City Council seats coming up for re-election next fall. And the woman who loses to a five-time incumbent mayor by only 122 votes can sure as hell beat an incumbent City Council member."  
  
She smiles, but rolls her eyes. "Maybe."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"I don't know. I keep thinking that my reputation's taken a permanent hit with all this scandal stuff. Every time I try running for office, it's bound to come back up. This might have been my only shot."  
  
Ben doesn't buy that for a minute. She nearly won, even with the so-called scandal fresh in everyone's minds.  
  
Suddenly, he feels one of those crazy impulses that have been hitting him more often over the past year. (Okay—so maybe they used to hit just as often, but he never used to act on them. But most of his impulsive actions this past year have turned out pretty damn good, so why not go for this one, too?)  
  
"You know," he says, almost afraid to go forward with this one. Maybe this particular impulse will push too far. "I think that the sex scandal might not seem so scandalous anymore if you were to—maybe—marry the man in question."  
  
Leslie's eyebrows slowly rise toward her hairline. "Ben—are you asking me to—"  
  
"Marry me." He feels like he's in the middle of dream, and the only way through is to keep going. "Leslie—I love you. And we're moving in together already. This is just one step beyond that. And I know this might feel sudden, or rushed—"  
  
"Yes," says Leslie.  
  
Ben plunges forward. "But we've known each other for over a year, and I know without a doubt that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If you need to think about it for a while before answering, I understand—"  
  
"Yes," she repeats.  
  
"Because I know I'm really springing this on you—wait a minute. Do you mean— _yes_ yes?"  
  
She nods, tears springing to her eyes. "Yes. I'll marry you."  
  
Now he has no desire whatsoever to wake up from this particular dream. "Yes," he repeats. "Yes. Oh my god. We're getting married."  
  
She laughs, clinging to his hands. "We're getting married!"  
  
And he laughs, too. And kisses her. And never, ever, wants to let go.  
  
He knows that later they're supposed to go to work. And Leslie will have to figure out if she wants to run for City Council next year. And he'll have to work on getting more clients for Mobile-CFO. And they'll start telling people about the engagement—Ann, Tom, Chris, Marlene, his parents.  
  
But right now, none of it matters. Right now, on the back porch, he's kissing his fiancée. And it feels about as perfect as life can get.

 

The End


End file.
